


One Big Joke

by Zeible



Series: Batman Revisited [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/F, F/M, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeible/pseuds/Zeible
Summary: Killer Croc is set loose on Gotham, and Batman has to recapture him, as well as three other dangerous criminals. Along the way, he makes a new partner, meets up with an old one, and uncovers a plot that could mean the end of Gotham- as well as his life.





	1. Broken Gates

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in a re-visioned version of Batman's mythos, with a few changes big and small scattered throughout. This story is kind of the culmination of years of ideas for streamlining Batman's backstory, abilities, allies, and rogues gallery. Think of it as kind of being like the Ultimate Marvel line, back before it got needlessly dark and contrived. 
> 
> A few notes for this continuity that won't be immediately apparent in the story itself;
> 
> Thomas Wayne was mixed-race, with a Black American father and a Lenape mother. So, Bruce himself is mixed. 
> 
> Also, Martha wasn't Martha Kane, but Martha Pennyworth- so yeah, Alfred's his uncle in this continuity. He also has an English accent as Bruce and an American one as Batman.
> 
> This is his third year as Batman- Dick joined him as Robin halfway through his first year, and left at the beginning of this year. Aside from Dick, he hasn't had any partners. 
> 
> There are a lot of clues as to where Gotham is in this continuity, and they're really unsubtle. I will say that it's somewhere in Delaware bay, though.
> 
> Aside from that there are a few things that will show up more naturally in the story.

## JIM GORDON

 

    That night was cold, and bitter. Snow had fallen, rare for Gotham in November, but hardly unheard of. It was quiet, too; aside from the sound of the odd car buzzing through the streets or the sound of a stray dog barking, one would think the city had all gone to sleep.

 

    But it wasn’t a good night for Jim Gordon; he was a man with enough troubles, and had gone home that afternoon hoping to relieve a few of them by spending Thanksgiving night with his family. He should’ve known better than to expect a reprieve- the city hated him, plain and simple.

 

    The call had been brief, terse; Captain Montoya was not one to mince words, and the situation was dire enough that even by her standards it was laconic. Gordon had barely the time to say goodnight to his wife and daughter before heading out the door once again, and racing back to the GPD. The streets were nearly empty, thank God; he’d need every bit of good fortune he could get tonight.

 

    When he got there, Montoya met him on the snow-covered steps, and led him inside as she explained to him the greater details of the situation at hand. The GPD was crowded and dirty as usual, not many cops going home for the holidays.

 

    “Killer Croc is loose, like I said; looks like there was an accident with his cell’s electronic locks, and he was able to force them open,” she paused as she awkwardly squeezed past an overweight Sergeant, “He’s loose, managed to kill three guards and injured five others. Seems like he took the time to set some of the other inmates loose, too.”

 

    Gordon looked over at the small, muscular woman, his eyeglasses reflecting the harsh lighting that flooded the hallway. “Any of them particularly concerning?”

 

    Montoya reached into her long coat and pulled out a notepad, covered in hastily-scribbled notes, “Floyd Lawton... he was last seen boosting a cop car and heading south on 3rd Street...Sal Maroni, who was apparently picked up by some unmarked cars that drove off towards Wayne bridge…”

 

    She trailed off, then looked back at Gordon, her dark eyes narrowing grimly. “And Zsasz, Victor Zsasz. No-one seems to know where _he_ went.”

 

    Gordon nodded, and looked at her gravely. “I know how much effort you put into bringing him in, Captain; I understand if you want to go after him yourself.”

 

    She looked away from him again, and headed for the stairs. “I’m just worried about Kate, is all. After what happened the last time he was loose.”

 

    “We’ll catch him,” the Commissioner said, trying to sound reassuring as he followed her up, “Or at least, _he_ will.”

 

    Montoya laughed as she fished her pockets for the roof key, “Sure, he always does,” she paused as she briefly fumbled with the key, “Assuming he gets here in time.”

 

    She pushed on the grimy door, swinging it wide open and letting in the chill autumn air. The GPD HQ’s roof was covered in snow that night, which combined with the wind to make it precariously slippery. Immediately to the right of the door was the enormous panel that controlled the Batsignal, which itself stood on a platform right behind them.

 

    Montoya nodded at Gordon, who pulled up his coat collar to protect against the cold before heading out. He fiddled with the various switches and keys on the control panel, muttering to himself that they could’ve afforded a more streamlined interface for this, and lamenting that he had forgotten his gloves.

 

Still, it always gave him a certain degree of satisfaction to do this, he thought as he flipped the final switch and brought the enormous searchlight online. It hummed and buzzed as it shone its light into the night sky, projecting the shadowed silhouette of the Bat onto the clouds that were blanketing Gotham in snow.

 

    Montoya walked over to him, looking casually up at the signal in the sky. She was unfazed by the cold, as usual; how she managed that while wearing a casual business suit and thin longcoat was beyond him. He chalked it up to her own nature; the woman had been through too much at this point to let cold bother her.

 

    “So, how long do you think it’ll take him to get here?” Montoya said in a conspiratorial tone, a crooked grin on her face.

 

    “I’d say about three minutes,” Gordon said, checking his watch. He frowned when he saw it was five to midnight; he and Barbara were going to watch some old movies together, and he’d promised them that this night was going to be the night he spent with his family.

 

    “Well then,” Montoya said, putting her arm on his shoulder, “I think Wayne and I can handle things tonight; not like either of us has much to look forward to this Thanksgiving.”

 

    He laughed sadly, remembering the time Montoya had figured out Batman’s true identity; it was what convinced him to promote her to Captain in the first place, but he knew it would have troubled Wayne if he learned that someone had found out who he was on their own.

 

Bruce had only intended to trust a few people with his identity, Gordon among them; Montoya was an unknown element in the equation that Gordon hoped would _remain_ unknown.

 

    “There won’t be any fighting between you two, alright?” The Commissioner said to his second-in-command, “The situation needs cooperation- and don’t risk letting him know _what_ you know.”

 

    The Captain who had served in the department for the better part of her adult life nodded, a genuine smile on her face. “Count on me, Gordon- I’ll keep him in line.”

 

    They shook hands, and Gordon made his way back down the stairs, his feelings mixed. It was certainly good to be spending the night with his family as promised, but he had his doubts that Montoya and Batman would cooperate.

 

    Especially after the _last_ time he left them to work together.

 

   

## BRUCE WAYNE

 

“Master Bruce, are you quite certain that you won’t be visiting young Master Grayson in Bludhaven for his 21st birthday? You know he misses you dearly.” Alfred said, sounding quite concerned as he drove them back to Wayne manor. He had been asking questions like this every day for the past six months, ever since Dick had left Gotham. He worried like a mother hen about the ex-Boy Wonder, even if he wasn’t a blood relative like Bruce was.

 

    “And...well I miss him too, Alfred,” Bruce said, looking forlornly out the window at the Cliffside, buried in snow and illuminated by thousands of overpowered street lights “But for now, Gotham just has me to protect it.” He knew well enough that he needed a new partner, but at the moment there wasn’t anyone he knew of that could even come close to Dick, let alone replace him.

 

    He was happy for his former sidekick, of course. He was a full adult now, and had more than proven more than once that he was capable of taking care of himself. Bruce had questions about his choice of name, of course (What _was_ a Nightwing, anyway?), but Dick Grayson, now aged 21, was otherwise proving himself to be the terror of Bludhaven’s corrupt elite.

 

    “Of course, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, as he turned them onto the estate’s long highway, “I was just making sure.”

 

    Bruce nodded, and looked back out the window- only to see that the Batsignal was in the sky. “Alfred, the signal is lit; take us straight into the cave.”

 

    Alfred checked the rear window, and narrowed his eyes when he saw the signal. “Right away, Master Bruce,” and turned the car onto a concealed path that led into the garage under Wayne manor. Inside were dozens of antique and foreign cars, as well as a few other oddities kept in cold storage. Alfred turned the car towards what appeared to be a solid concrete wall, slowing down and pressing a button concealed on the dashboard. All in a flash, the concrete wall dropped into the floor, and the car went straight into the inky blackness.

 

    In spite of himself, Bruce _loved_ the ride into the Batcave; the sound of the bats fluttering in the darkness, happily singing and living in the many nooks and crannies of the karst cavern.

 

    The cave itself was actually quite pleasant, atmospherically speaking; sure all the running water made it kind of damp, but it had more than enough natural ventilation from sinkholes in the area to keep the air fresh, and it was never too hot or too cold, no matter what time of year it was.

 

    They finally reached the ground floor of the cave, and Bruce wasted no time leaping out of the car and over to the central area, where the Batsuits, Batcomputer, and various Bat-gadgets were kept. Right next to it was the lagoon where he parked the Batsub; in Gotham, it was the best way to get around.

 

    “Shall I just go and park the car, sir?” Alfred asked from across the cavern.

 

    Bruce turned, and smiled warmly at the man who had raised him. “Take care, Alfred!”

 

    He quickly stripped off the expensive Armani suit he was wearing and threw it into a Bat-laundry basket, while looking over which suit to wear. They had been lined up on a row of mannequins, for easy presentation.

 

    He could use his original suit, of course; it wasn’t anything special in looks. It was a fully concealing black bodysuit made of bulletproof polymers, and had a built in set of gliding wings. He had been using the same suit for years now, though- it was time to try out one of the newer models.

 

    His eye was drawn to the latest suit to come out of prototype; it was rather different in look from the original suit- the cowl, gloves, boots, cape, and briefs were a very dark blue, the belt and circle around the insignia were yellow, and the rest of the suit was grey. The colour was just one aspect of the difference, though; it was made of a much tougher armor plating than the first suit for one thing, but even more impressively had built-in strength-enhancing equipment.

 

    In addition, the faceplate covering his mouth had been improved compared to the original suit (Which had at first left his mouth exposed, before he realized that it left him too vulnerable to gas), now featuring a built-in voice modulator in addition to the gas filtration device.

 

    Tonight was the night to try it, for sure. Having stripped down to the bodysuit he wore under his clothes, and slid into the suit. It was designed to be easy to wear; the original design had called for a suit made of a single piece of material, but Bruce had pointed out how much time and effort would go into putting that damned thing on. So instead, Lucius and him and worked together to design modular armours that could attach directly to his bodysuit.

 

    It took all of thirty seconds, which was about as long as it took to put on the old suit- definitely a good sign. He was about ready to head for the Batsub when he heard the audible notification of a received message; it was from someone he didn’t know, calling themself ‘Oracle’.

 

    It was a brief, cryptic message- the kind he was used to by now. He didn’t want to waste too much time on anonymous messages right now, so he saved it to the customized smartphone he used as a portable computer, and got in the Batsub.

 

    He was surprised to find not Commissioner Gordon, but Captain Renee Montoya standing by the Batsignal. She had waved to him as he grappled up to the rooftop, annoying him; none of his tricks worked on this woman, it seemed.

 

    “Good evening, Batman,” the Captain said, looking unconcernedly over at him, “We’ve got a situation on our hands.”

 

    He walked over to her, mentally going over the possibilities. Could be that a metahuman had arrived in town- that was what they usually called him up for, ever since he’d dealt with Solomon Grundy. Could also be that there was a more mundane high-risk warrant they wanted him to bring in.

 

    “What’s the situation?” He said, surprised by how much deeper his voice sounded with the voice modulator on.

 

    Montoya raised an eyebrow. “Trying out a new suit, Bats?” She looked him up and down. “What’s with the speedo?”

 

    He grimaced behind his faceplate, not wanting to get into this right now. “I added the briefs for my own reasons.” In truth, he just thought it made for good colour balance, but he didn’t want to give that away.

 

    “I see,” she replied, looking down at a notebook he realized she was carrying, “Let’s get this sorted out.” She handed him the pad, and then explained. “Blackgate had a bit of a malfunction lately, and in an inconvenient place.”

 

    “Killer Croc’s cell,” it had to be- there were no other metahumans there, and Croc’s cell had its own generator to power the electricity keeping him in there. “He’s loose, I take it?” He looked down at the notepad, and gritted his teeth when he saw what was on it; three names, Salvatore Maroni, Victor Zsasz, and Floyd Lawton. A pyromaniac mobster, a serial killer, and the world’s deadliest hitman.

 

    “We think Croc let those other three loose as a distraction, but it’s also possible that someone busted them all out at once; whatever happened to Croc’s cell, it was completely unprecedented by the maintenance staff.”

 

    Batman said nothing, and pondered this briefly. “I’m heading to Blackgate; radio ahead, let them know I’ll need to investigate. Meet me there, or send me some backup if you can.” He leapt off the roof and soared over the rooftops, held aloft on his wings and propelled by the jetpack built into his suit.

 

    He made a beeline for Blackgate, though he made several cursory scans of the environment on the way there. There were GPD cars forming a barricade around the place, and a rather obvious hole had been punched through the side; Killer Croc’s handiwork. Batman felt a chill go down his spine; Croc had always been strong, but not _that_ strong. His mutation was clearly worsening.

 

    Batman wasted no time, and flew right down next to the police barricade. The cops’ chatter and coffee drinking was cut short when they saw him, and more than one of them reflexively reached for their pistols. He winced, remembering the time that a trigger-happy officer had shot him by accident, long after he’d started working openly with the police.

 

    He’d never really forgiven Bullock for that screw-up.

 

    “I’m here to help,” he said calmly, “Captain Montoya should’ve called ahead for me.”

 

    A sergeant swallowed nervously, and nodded. “She did, yeah. You’re cleared to go on in.”

 

    “Thanks.” He said, before gently moving past them. He headed for the hole in the wall, and saw that it was more than concrete that Killer Croc had punched through; this was the inside of his cell, which was steel plated on the inside. He _had_ to be on something- Venom maybe, or someone had injected him with a Kryptonian DNA retrovirus. Whatever it was, he needed to catch Croc quickly.

 

    He activated his Bat-Vision, and scanned the room; aside from the electronics being disabled, there wasn’t anything odd about the room. He focused on the electronics themselves- the cables were uncut, and in fact seemed undamaged. This meant that the power source had been disabled...except a cursory scan of it showed that it was fully operational.

 

    “I know, doesn’t make any sense.” A familiar voice said, coming up behind him. He turned around to see a familiar face...or rather, a familiar _lack_ of a face. It was the Question; not the original, male Question he’d served with in the old Justice Society, but the new female one that had taken over about a year ago. He still didn’t know anything about her, but if nothing else she was at least a good a detective as old Vic Sage had been. What little he could make out of her features was a mop of curly blonde hair, pale skin, and that she was clearly very muscular. Knowing the nature of the chemical Question had used to disguise himself, only that last one was useful information.

 

    “Montoya send you?” He winced- it was a stupid question. Montoya didn’t like most superheroes, aside from himself and Batwoman. There was no way she’d call in someone else, least of all a troublesome maverick like the Question.

 

    She said nothing, and walked past him and made her way to the opened door. Despite having no powers or special equipment, she still managed to solve problems that had stumped even him. Hopefully, this was one of those problems.

 

    “Big guy,” she said offhandedly, motioning for him to come closer, “Something’s off about this door, I think.” She ran a gloved hand over it, drawing Batman’s attention to the lack of claw marks or any sign that Croc had damaged it. Clearly, the electricity had been enough to keep him from so much as touching it.

 

    Something clicked. “The lock! It’s not an electronic lock, it’s mechanical.” He scanned it with his Bat-Vision, and investigated it more closely. “And it’s been picked.”

 

    The Question cocked her head. “Any idea who would’ve done that?”

 

    “A couple of suspects, but at a guess…” he looked at it more closely, and noted the notches that had been carved into the interior of the lock, as if it had been picked by curved claws. “Catwoman.”

 

    “Oh. Joy.” She sounded so bemused by the situation, and Batman couldn’t help but agree that it was bizarre; hard to imagine someone like Catwoman doing this, even for money. Killer Croc had tried to _eat_ her once, if he remembered correctly. She must’ve been desperate for cash if she was taking a job like this.

 

    “What about the others?” He said, pushing the door back open, and making his way to the other high-security cells. They were all fairly standard for dangerous prisoners like the sort being kept here; not as extreme (Or as large) as Killer Croc’s cell, of course, but securely sealed and locked cells that were under 24-hour surveillance.

 

    They had been ripped open by Killer Croc, and the prisoners had evidently fled out through the hole that Croc had made in the wall of his own cell. He made a note to send a donation and a suggestion to store metahumans far away from dangerous criminals like the ones kept in here.

 

    “But what about the electricity?” Question said, looking back at Croc’s cell. She turned her head over to the humming generator. “Given that the generator is still running, and the cables haven’t been cut, seems to me that someone shoved a capacitor device on the cable.”

 

    Batman traced his hand along the wall that concealed the power cable, scanning it more closely. “No...I’m not seeing anything here…” He paused, then realized something. All this time  the generator had been getting steadily louder and louder.

 

    The Question was ahead of him. “It’s overloading!” She ran over to it, and ripped the outer casing off the thing with surprising force. On it was a small capacitor device as she had suggested before, and it was glowing with the heat of the energy it was siphoning from the machine.

 

    He knew they only had a few seconds, and pulled out his radio frequency identifier.

 

    The Question turned to face him, and cocked her head again. “What are you...oh, I get it.”

 

    Batman took a quick scan of the device. “That’s a LexCorp model; what radio frequency does it use?” The device processed the request, and spat out the number. He quickly tossed it aside, and pulled out his radio interceptor, and accessed the device. It wasn’t password protected, and he was familiar enough with the user interface to shut it down.

 

    The cables powering the electric field started channeling electricity again. The capacitor cooled off eventually, and the Question plucked it free of the generator. “Huh. Weird looking LexCorp model,” she looked up at him, “I think this is a bootleg.”

 

    “What do you mean?” He said, putting his tools away and walking over to her.

 

    “This has Kahndaqi Arabic written all over it,” she said, showing him the machine, “It’s one of those LexCorp models they can’t actually _sell_ here, because of regulations and laws preventing people from using this kind of supervillain junk.”

 

    He nodded, unsurprised that she was able to at least _recognize_ such an obscure dialect. “Why is this model illegal?”

 

    “Well, because _most_ capacitors are designed _not_ to overload and potentially explode,” she opened a panel, showing a tube of what Batman suspected was nitroglycerin kept next to a heating rod that had been charging up just a few moments ago. “This thing had been siphoning power for close to an hour, but it only starts to explode when we get near?”

 

    He took the device, and put it in one of his evidence pouches. “Someone remotely set it off, tried to kill us. Someone who saw us come in.”

 

    “Deadshot,” she said, sounding icily certain, “Catwoman wouldn’t try to kill _you_ \- me, maybe, but not _you_. Whoever put her up to this gave her the device without telling her what it was for, and then had Croc free the others just to get Deadshot out. He was only arrested a week ago; this was probably part of a long game they had going.”

 

    He nodded, processing it. “And the others Croc released are too dangerous for us to just ignore...making them perfect distractions.”

 

    “I think this might’ve been a ploy to get you killed- and I doubt it was the last one you’ll run into tonight.” She headed for the front door. “I’m going after Zsasz- my advice is you head for Deadshot first, Firefly won’t be able to get back to his suit for at least a few hours, and Catwoman probably doesn’t know anything we haven’t already figured out.”

 

    He scowled, and gently touched the pouch he had stored the device in. “No, I think I need to get this checked out first. And besides,” he said, turning to face her, “I think the others will come after me-”

 

    She was already gone.

 

##     **JIM GORDON**

 

The drive back home had been peaceful, thankfully. Despite the chaos at Blackgate, it was a pretty quiet night. Needless to say, Thelma and Barbara had been relieved that he was back early, and they had settled in for a night of watching old movies- 80s hacking films, Barbara’s favorites.

 

It felt like it had been a lifetime ago, the last time they had quality family time like this. It had been tough ever since he became police commissioner; he hadn’t even _seen_ Barbara in the four months that led up to that incident where...where she had lost her ability to walk.

 

Remembering that was sobering; he had thought he was _protecting_ her by working as the Police Commissioner, and it ended up getting her kidnapped and shot by that _bastard_ clown. Worse was how he had seemingly revelled in getting away with it with just two years in Blackgate.

 

Once upon a time, he had thought that he and Batman could take down the Joker’s crime syndicate. He laughed bitterly at how naive he had been back then, back in those early days, when Batman still had Robin around.

 

He frowned, thinking about how odd it was that, even after Bruce Wayne had told him his secret identity, he adamantly refused to tell the Commissioner who that young man by his side was.

 

It worried him; the boy barely seemed like he could’ve been eighteen. Every time he went out to fight crime with his fellow Caped Crusader, Gordon fretted beyond his usual degree.

 

Still, the young man knew what he was doing; and if the rumours were true and this “Nightwing” setting up shop over in Bludhaven really _was_ the Boy Wonder grown up, then he was shaping up to be a full-fledged superhero in his own right. Barbara was always regaling him with tales she read off the internet about him; so enthusiastically, he suspected she had a little crush on the man.

 

    Thelma tugged at his shoulder, breaking him out of his stupor. “James? You okay?”

 

    He shook off the introspection, and smiled gently. “Yeah, I’m fine honey,” he said, draping his arm over her shoulder and kissing her. She giggled as she always did; his mustache was apparently ticklish.

 

    “Hey, dad!” Barbara said, waving at him. She had been splitting her focus between the film they were watching and something she was working on; her wheelchair had been outfitted with a tray specifically for her to use her laptop on the go. She had joked that it made the whole thing worth it, that she’d always have a hard surface to work on.

 

    “What is it sweetie?” He said, leaning over to her.

 

    “You know how you wanted me to monitor anything suspicious going on lately?”

 

    Jim nodded, his expression growing serious; Barbara was a genius hacker it turned out, a better data analyst than most of the tech staff at the GCPD. Initially he had been hesitant to ask her to do work like this for him, but ultimately it was only right to let her use her talents to their fullest extent and use.

 

    “Well, I got a few things; looks like one of the ships owned by Penguin’s shell companies has arrived, and _mysteriously_ they’ve not only misplaced their written manifest, but _also_ some of their _cargo_.”

 

    Gordon sighed. “Cobblepot’s smuggling operation is as transparent as ever. Any leads that could be pursued, maybe some dirt?”

 

    She shook her head. “No, nothing- but I got something else. Black Mask is apparently leaving Gotham.”

 

    Gordon scoffed. “We can’t be _that_ lucky- any idea where he says he’s going?”

 

    She shook her head. “Not a clue, sorry.” She got back to her work.

    He sighed; now as before, so much was going on without his knowledge and outside his control. At that moment, he heard a knock at the door.

 

    “Who could that be?” Thelma said, looking at the door. “You said you wouldn’t be expecting anyone.”

 

    His face turned white. “Thelma, Barbara- get to the back room, lock the door, and stay down there.” Without a complaint, the two of them compiled and safely locked themselves away.

Gordon got up, and walked over to the front door, his hand on his pistol.

 

    “Who’s there?” He asked, ready for the worst. His answer was a steel boot bursting through the door and slamming him in the chest.

 

    He grunted, and coughed blood. With great effort, he managed to look up at his attacker- and saw that it was a man in a silver suit of powered armor, equipped with a flamethrower.

 

    “Firefly…” he said, barely able to speak. With great effort, he managed to pull out his pistol and unloaded it on the armored pyromaniac; the bullets hit with enough force to make him stagger, but of course his armor was bulletproof. How had he _gotten_ it that quickly?

 

    “Hello, Jimmy,” Firefly replied, his voice deepened by the filter in his mask, “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

    “I fucking _live_ here, Maroni…” He was sick and tired of costumed freaks showing up at his home.

 

    “Not for long!” Firefly said, aiming his flamethrower right at Jim’s head. “No, wait,” he added, lowering it to over Gordon’s feet. “That’d be too quick.” Gordon struggled, but the kick he’d been dealt earlier was enough to immobilize him, and he was helpless as Firefly shot a small spurt of flame right at his feet.

 

    “Now, if you tell me where your family is, I’ll just shoot you and spare you the pain.” He looked Gordon over. “Not that you’ll have much time to choose.”

 

    His shoes were tough leather, but the flames were still hot enough to scald his feet. He couldn’t help but scream in pain, and his vision started to blur. There was nothing he could do; he was going to die, slowly burn to death because a petty psychopath like Sal Maroni got a hold of tech way above his pay grade.

 

    Then, everything changed- he could barely see what happened next. One second, Firefly was standing there, the next he had fallen to the floor, tripping over himself as a black blur darted around the room, whacking him with what sounded like a metal bat.

 

He was screaming and flailing, but thankfully the blur, whatever it was, wrestled the flamethrower out of his hand, and tossed it back onto the sidewalk and away from the flammable house interior.

 

Firefly’s cumbersome suit was now covered in dents, and there was the sound of clogged hydraulics as he labored to move. His attacker was relentless, though to Gordon it seemed they weren’t trying to kill him in spite of everything. Finally, they slammed the bat down into his translucent visor, smashing it into pieces.

 

Maroni groaned, and seemed to pass out. The attacker then ran over to Gordon and stamped out the fire with a damp jacket. He could see more clearly now; she was clearly a young woman, but her face was concealed by a domino mask, hood, and bandana. She signed something to him in ASL- he had received some training in it in basic, but he couldn’t understand normal signing.

 

The young woman seemed to recognize this, and switched to finger-spelling. <YOU ALRIGHT?>

 

He nodded, and replied. <WHO YOU?>

 

<NOT TELL YOU MY NAME,> she paused, and looked around, before coming up closer to him, looking concerned, <WHERE FAMILY?> She paused again. <I MUTE, NOT DEAF.>

 

He nodded. “They’re in the back, they’re safe.”

 

She nodded. <YOU NEED HELP?>

 

He shook his head. “Do _you_ need help?”

 

<NO,> she got up, and picked up her damp jacket, wringing it out. <BATMAN NEED HELP.> With that, she ran back out the door, closing it behind her...apparently not noticing that it had an enormous hole in it.

 

Gordon just stared at the ceiling for a good long while after that.

   


	2. An Icy Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman goes to the Penguin for more information and meets an old foe from the past. Meanwhile, the Question investigates the escaped Mr. Zsasz and uncovers a sinister plot.

## THE QUESTION

 

The squad car had taken too long to show up; probably a deliberate delay, Flass was under orders. Possibly just working for Maroni himself, but likely an agent of whoever was behind the breakout at Blackgate.

 

Had to make a mental note; the breakout likely part of larger scheme. Also note; conspicuous that four high-profile threats, including two metahumans, were kept in the same wing of the prison. Standard metahuman containment protocol required keeping them separate from one another in most circumstances, to prevent exactly this sort of situation.

 

Also like a sign of corruption in Blackgate’s administration- what else was new?

 

Flass and the detective that had accompanied him (Ramirez- not much of a record there) almost took Firefly on their own, then unexpected event occurs.

Harvey Dent arrives- what’s he doing here at this time of night? Acting somewhat out of character, substantially more impulsive and speaking at higher volume than is normal. Demands to accompany Flass and Ramirez in returning Sal Maroni to Blackgate; denies this being a product of their history.

 

Obviously untrue, Flass and Ramirez refuse. Dent speaks with Gordon; they discuss ‘The Detective’ (Veiled reference to the Batman), make oblique references to political machinations at city hall. Gordon admits uncertainty how to proceed; uncertain Montoya handling crisis well.

 

Shows what he knows.

 

Dent reassures Gordon that Montoya knows what she’s doing- then leaves, with barely a goodbye. Cursing quietly, runs off into the night. Going in same direction corrupt cops took Maroni. Odd. Should pursue, but Zsasz is priority.

 

Gordon heads back inside- door is still wrecked, Maroni’s handiwork. Activate gas…

 

...and return to being Renee Montoya. With her face no longer concealed by the face-obscuring mask, Renee walked down the cobblestone road and up the brick steps to Gordon’s front door. There was a big damn hole in it; Maroni certainly never did anything _small_.“Gordon! Are you alright?”

 

Gordon turned around, smiling, looking relieved. “Captain! I guess you heard what happened?”

 

“Yeah, I did.” Best not to bring up that she was nearby when it happened; if CC hadn’t been in the area, she would’ve tried to intervene herself, but the odds hadn’t looked favorable. Silently, she cursed herself for the senseless ‘pragmatism’- Gordon _needed_ help and she had waited it out, thinking that she’d just be wasting her own life. So, instead, she let an 18-year old girl do the fighting instead.

 

“Is everything alright, Jim?”

 

He let out a sigh, and looked to the ground, staring at a slightly burned patch of carpet. “As much as it can be,” he touched the edge of the broken door, “Come on in, Captain. I’ll get you a coffee.”

 

Renee shook her head. “I need to get back to the GPD, I think I’ve got Zsasz cornered but I’m going to need some help.”

The Commissioner raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh? Doing this yourself? I’d think you’d take advantage of being the one in charge, maybe delegate a little.”

 

Renee put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve got this, Gordon- and besides, I don’t trust anyone besides Bullock and Allen to handle this. Bullock is busy running leads and Allen is running a sting on Thorne. I’m stuck handling this myself.”

 

“There are _hundreds_ of police in the GPD, Montoya. Not all of them are corrupt or incompetent.”

 

“Yes, but most of them are at home right now- and too many of them are...less than eager to take orders from me.” She was scowling now, remembering what Bullock had said to her, back when Harvey had accidentally outed her. She didn’t really blame Dent over it- he was just checking for what seemed like a discrepancy in her ID. When he realized it was just a holdover from before she’d transitioned, he apologized as he should have. But word got out anyway- probably Flass, trying to get her to quit.

 

That year had been _Hell_.

 

Gordon was silent, and pulled off his glasses, before pinching his brow in visible frustration. “God damn them, then.” He looked back up at her. “I know you’re a good cop, Montoya- handle this. Maybe you’ll change their minds?”

 

She scoffed at that, and just turned away, nothing more to say to him.

## BATMAN

 

Underneath the inky black waters of Gotham’s polluted waterways travelled a dark grey submarine, that bore no mark save for a yellow-ringed bat-symbol. It was a custom-made model, based on the designs of some of Wayne Enterprises’ research submarines, but

 

The Batsub was Batman’s preferred way of getting around; Gotham was really a collection of six islands, three large, three small, plus some mainland territory- so travelling by sub just made sense. More importantly it was _stealthy_ , unlike the Batmobile. There was also the Batplane...but then the Batplane was highly illegal, given the laws surrounding unlicensed flying craft; and on a more fundamental level, any reasonably intelligent person could use the flight patterns to triangulate the hangar he kept it in. Given that the hangar was _also_ less than a mile removed from Wayne Manor, it was a serious risk to his secret identity.

Now, the downside to the Batsub was that it was only so useful in most circumstances- it could get him from one end of Gotham to the other in record time, and any location on the shore was in easy reach- but any inland territory was out of its reach.

 

Thankfully, he was headed for the Iceberg Lounge; Penguin’s rich-man’s club up in North Point, and he had arrived. He pulled the Batsub up to the shoreline, and jumped out onto the shore, then had the Batsub go back to the Batcave- but not before pulling out the watertight compartment that transformed into his motorcycle, and drove on up the hill that led to the lounge..

 

Over the hill stood the Iceberg Lounge; a piece of avant-garde construction designed by up-and-coming artist Rose Walker and built by one of Penguin’s shell companies. It looked like a Frank Lloyd Wright house, but ten times as large and illuminated by dozens of high-powered searchlights.

 

He really didn’t care for what it actually _was_ \- a meeting place for corrupt businessmen and mob bosses, some of whom had outstanding warrants- but it at least _looked_ nice. The back entrance- the one meant for the guests who weren’t supposed to be noticed. Perfect for him. It was small, quiet, generally resembling an employee entrance. The only way up to it was up a narrow metal walkway.

It had guards of course- a big, burly man covered in Russian tattoos and an impressive-built woman dressed in a casual suit. They were visibly distracted by whatever conversation they were having, and didn’t notice him yet. He stuck to the shadows, and gradually worked his way up the hill towards them while weighing his options. He could use force, of course, and would probably be able to handle them no problem.

 

Batman didn’t like unnecessary violence- there was always the chance that, no matter how careful he was, he could kill or at least permanently injure someone. He didn’t have a lot of other options, though, given that Penguin had made his facility impossible for even _Catwoman_ to break into.

 

He sighed, and readied himself, going over in his mind the moves they would probably make as he calmly walked up to them. The snow would make this difficult- he had trained to fight in snow, but it had actually been a very long time since he’d gotten into a full on brawl in it.

 

“Excuse me, I need to speak to the Penguin.” He said- doubtful but still hoping they might just let him in. “I can pay the fee.”

 

The two guards immediately sprang into action; the man assumed a Krav Maga pose, the woman a Long Fist stance. The latter bolted at him, true to her form, and immediately slammed a long kick into his face. He took the hit easily, moving with it and flying backwards while she recoiled in pain from kicking the hard material of his faceplate.

 

He immediately counterattacked, sweeping her leg and sending her to the snow-covered ground, where she struggled to pull herself back up, but plainly her legs were in too much pain to support her. He frowned, realizing that he had forgotten about his new suit’s strength-enhancing capabilities, and this woman’s legs were probably broken.

 

Having finally caught up with his partner, the large man aimed an open palm right for his chest, shoving Batman back and knocking the wind out of him. He was clearly unfazed by striking the armor head on- the man might’ve been on drugs, or just trained well enough to endure the pain caused by striking something as tough as the Batsuit.

 

Okay, this called for a cheat- he pulled out a rubber batarang and hurled it at the man, who took it right on the nose. He made a sharp bellow of pain and briefly clutched his now-bleeding nose, before refocusing on his opponent and heading right for him. Batman pulled out his Batclaw and fired it right at the man’s leg- then pulled hard, and flew the man into the air.

 

The man screamed in pain as he did so, and landed right on his spine- it was lucky the ground was covered in snow, or else this might’ve been a serious injury. He was writhing in pain, and clutched at his ankle...which had clearly been twisted.

 

Well, that was better than what happened to the woman, Batman thought as he looked at the now-unconscious woman, thankfully breathing soundly. He pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills out of his utility belt, and put them in the woman’s outside coat pocket. She was going to need it, unless the Penguin provided health insurance. With that taken care of, he headed inside the Iceberg Lounge.

 

\-----------

 

“Well, what is it that we have here!” A nasal, squawking voice cried out, making Batman wince. It was the Penguin; Oswald Cobblepot, the king of smuggling in Gotham. Technically, he wasn’t a criminal- at least not according to US law. All his smuggle took place elsewhere, and Gotham served more as his base of operations than anything else. He was ruthless to his enemies, generous to his friends, and unpredictable for anyone else.

 

Batman had been ushered into a private lounge, a spacious, luxuriously decorated room with an enormous window that overlooked the northern waterfront of Gotham. Standing to either side of him were a pair of guards- both women, about six foot each, dressed in expensive Armani suits. Across the room, standing right in front of the enormous window, was the Penguin himself. He had been surprised by Batman’s entrance, yet seemed remarkably unconcerned now that he was actually here.

 

He was a short, blonde man- not really unattractive, but quite plain and squat. He was dressed in a tuxedo fit for a man his size, had a monocle and an enormous top hat. To Batman’s consternation he was a chain smoker, never to be seen without his cigarette holder.  He was grinning widely, his teeth clenched tightly around that cigarette holder.

 

“It seems our chiropteran caped crusader has come clammering to my classy club, with questions, perhaps?”

 

“Yes, about a bit of LexCorp tech,” he said, pulling out the capacitor as he walked over “One that seems to have come a long way here, judging by the Kahndaqi on it.”

 

Penguin’s eyes brightened, and he extended a hand. “Let me take a closer look at that.”

 

Batman handed the device over, and Penguin spent a full minute looking it over. “Ah, I know this little number; one of those gadgets dear old Teth-Adam uses to keep his people in line.”

“How does that work?” He had a few ideas, but the machine seemed impractical for anything.

 

“Well, to sum it up, these electronic explosives are expertly implanted in each citizen’s primary mode of transit. When a member of the fine and fair federal forces that enforce the eminent “elected” officials’ will is chasing an escaping felon, they can disable the car quiet quickly from a safe distance.”

 

“And the explosive? What purpose does that serve?”

 

“Oh, that’s just if they need to kill them.” Penguin said, dropping his posh tone for one of mild contempt. “I don’t know why anyone over _here_ would need one of these…”

 

The Dark Knight snarled, and stepped a bit closer to Penguin- immediately, the two guards grabbed his wrists, and tried to trap him. He had no time for this right now- he used the enhanced strength to lift the two of them off the ground, then shook them loose. “Cobblepot, I need to know who gave this to Deadshot.”

 

“Oh? Our most precariously precise and penetrating provocateur has palled up with some ne'er-do-well to do in the Bat? Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t know how this bit of technology could’ve ended up in _his_ hands, but I know how I can find out.”

 

He paused for a bit, and looked back at the device before looking back up at Batman. “I’m going to need something from _you_ , though. A little favor for a favor.”

 

“I’m not doing anything illegal for you, Cobblepot.”

 

He scowled; Penguin _hated_ being called by his real name. No-one knew why. “It’s not _illegal,_ strictly speaking...just not the sort of job you’d usually do. I’m sure you’ll do fine, don’t worry.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

\---------

 

Oh god why had he agreed to this; it wasn’t the worst thing exactly, nor the most dangerous. But it was _humiliating_ ; fighting for the entertainment of Penguin’s rich, unbelievably decadent clientele. He wasn’t sure what they _thought_ was going on- whether he was the real Batman or some kind of impostor, but either way it was an embarrassment.

 

He had been led into an arena not dissimilar to a boxing ring, albeit in a pit instead of up on a platform. There were two entrances to the ring, one that he’d come out of and one on the opposing side. Behind each door was a prep room, where Batman had been told to leave his utility belt; evidently his armor was acceptable.

 

The floor was slightly rubbery, yet solid enough to keep good balance on. In the center was an enormous penguin icon- a laughable incongruity in this gladiatorial arena.

 

Penguin was standing atop a podium, in the midst of the rows of cheering attendees; it was a rather diverse bunch, some dressed as finely as their host, others in street clothes. One thing they all had in common, though was that they were _rich_.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen and others!” Penguin announced proudly, using one of his parasols as a microphone, “I welcome you to tonight’s Iceberg Brawl! This evening, we have a very special contestant!” He said, gesturing down to Batman. “The Bat-man himself, come to fight at long last in this fine ring of ours!”

 

 The crowed cheered uproariously, like Romans in a colosseum. This is how it was going to be; the Caped Crusader reduced to a gladiator for the Penguin’s wealthy patrons. It was missing one element, though- gladiators, like modern-day wrestlers, typically fought staged matches, yet the Penguin had given him no instructions. What was he planning?

 

His thoughts were interrupted by Penguin raising a hand to calm the crowd.“And as his opponent,” he said in a half-whisper, “The one and only man to _ever_ best the Bat!” The crowd started roaring, then chanting; a very _familiar_ chant in Moroccan Arabic.

 

Across the ring the mechanical door opened with a hydraulic whir, and out stepped Batman’s opponent. The sight made his heart beat that much faster, and reflexively, he entered a defensive stance.

 

“I give you... _BANE_!” The Penguin had both his hands raised in the air now, as if conjuring up the now-deafening applause coming from the audience. He was truly revelling in this, milking it for all it was worth.

 

Bane on the other hand was largely unconcerned with all the applause, his gaze never wavering. “Hello, Batman.” His tone was calm and casual, but Batman knew that Bane’s tone was hardly an indicator of his mood.

 

“Bane, what are you doing here?” The man had dislocated two of Bruce’s vertebrae once, back when he was an anarchistic-thug addicted to Venom. “You look smaller now. Finally kick the habit?”

 

The masked man grasped the lapels of his armored vest and chuckled warmly. “Oh yes, I did; and I feel stronger than _ever_!” He demonstrated this by making a mighty leap across the ring right at Batman.

 

Mid-flight, Penguin called out “GET READY TO SEE A BAT BREAK!”, distracting Bruce just long enough for Bane to land a punch right in his chest. It landed like a solid brick and set him flying back into the wall of the ring. He grunted in pain, the wind knocked out of his chest. This fight was off to a bad start, especially given that he was _sans_ utility belt.

 

He forced himself to his feet, now using his suit’s strength-enhancing mechanisms more than he had before. His fists were barely back in the air before Bane bull rushed him again, driving him back into the wall.

 

“Now, Mr. Wayne,” Bane whispered, so quietly it was barely audible through his mask, “Are you going to surrender, and concede that you cannot defeat me? Or do you want to draw this out?”

 

Batman could barely breathe, let alone speak. Bane had his enormous arm pressing directly into his esophagus, suffocating him. He resisted the urge to flail, and managed to focus a kick directly into Bane’s left knee; his weak point ever since young Jean-Paul had shot it years ago.  

 

The kick only glanced his knee, but it was enough for Bane to shout in pain and recoil from Batman, clutching at his old injury. Batman was wasting no time; he leapt and Bane and planted a flying kick right into his chest, causing him to stumble backwards a good few feet.

 

The masked mercenary clutched at his chest, and struggled to breathe. “Ah, so you wish...to put up a fight…. _good_ ’, he planted his feet firmly where he stood, and opened his arms wide. “Come on Dark Knight- see how it goes for you _this_ time!”

 

Batman, refusing to be baited, slowly circled Bane. His was certainly _weaker_ without Venom, but that didn’t mean much. A realization then hit Batman; the tables were now reversed, Bane had nothing but his strength, where Batman now had his strength-enhancements. He needed to exploit that if he wanted to win.

 

The mental contest began; either Bane would lose control first, and futily attempt to catch his smaller and faster enemy, or Batman would abandon his sense and try to overwhelm his much larger opponent. For what felt like hours neither of them so much as blinked, Bane slowly rotating to maintain eye contact with Batman.

 

There was a hushed silence in the stands now; evidently this little game they were playing had totally enraptured the crowd. He saw that even the Penguin was more interested in watching the fight than announcing it. After at least five minutes of this, an opportunity finally presented itself when Bane’s injured knee seemed to act up, and Bane knelt to the ground, clutching at his knee in pain.

 

Batman seized the opening and used his suit to run faster than was normally possible, then slammed his fist into Bane’s face-

 

-Or would have, had Bane not immediately caught it with his own hand, and then brought himself back up to full height. He laughed. “Ah, World’s Greatest Detective can’t even tell when I’m faking a limp. You’ll pay for that mistake.” He began crushing Batman’s hand, slowly and agonizingly twisting it as he did so.

 

Batman, barely maintaining his faculties, remembered that his suit could be used to force his hand to open. He activated the servos in his hand that powered its exoskeletal mechanisms, and to even his own astonishment saw that Bane’s hand was being pushed open by the force of the hand opening.

 

“What...arrrghhh what are you doing!” Bane shouted, trembling with pain as he struggled in vain to keep crushing Batman’s hand. Realizing he couldn’t maintain his grip, he released Batman’s hand and shook his own, nursing it tenderly.

 

“Winning this fight,” Batman said, tightening his fist. He strode slowly over to Bane, projecting a greater sense of confidence than he felt. “For good this time.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Bane was unintimidated; his mask tightening as he scowled at his enemy. He screamed, and threw a wild punch at Batman.

 

Before it could land, Batman raised both his hands with his suit’s mechanisms, and caught the punch. He smirked beneath his mask as he activated his hand-mechanisms once again, this time to crush Bane’s hand. The enormous man started screaming in pain, and was about to try punching his way out as Batman had before.

 

“Another idea, Bane,” Batman growled, “Let’s see how _you_ like some back pain.” He used his suit’s strength to throw Bane over his shoulders, slamming him back-first into the ground. The enormous man let out a grunt of pain, but no cracking sound was heard when he hit the ground. He had been more careful this time- it was unlikely Bane had any permanent injuries.

 

Bane coughed, and struggled to get back to his feet. Before he could do so, Batman ran over to him and pinned him to the ground, raising his fist up high. “Yield, Bane.”

 

Bane snarled. “It’s not over, Wayne. I _will_ break you again, with my own two hands.”

 

Before Batman could retort, the Penguin shouted out. “We have a winner!” The crowd roared and cheered once again, though he could swear there were a few jeers mixed in. With the fight over, Bane got up and exited through the door he’d entered, while Batman was returned his utility belt and led back to Penguin’s private office.

 

“Well, Batman,” Penguin said, sounding chipper as he looked out over the river. “I must say you did a _fantastic_ job giving everyone a show out there tonight!” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, about that job you needed done..” he walked over to a desk where he had set the capacitor device. “It’s not that easy, figuring out who might’ve used this- I actually already had my men scan it, but as far as I can tell it was already opened when it...arrived.”

 

The Batman cocked his head, amused that he would try to be so circumspect, given the countless times he’d been caught red-handed by Batman and had to spend months at a time in Blackgate while his lawyers and bribers settled his release. “You mean when you smuggled it into the country?”

 

The little man raised his hands defensively, reaching ever-so-subtly for the parasol by his side. “Let’s not go making accusations like that. Perhaps it might’ve...accidentally ended up in one of my shipments from the Red Sea ports. Sometimes, careless dockworkers or miscreants like to mix in dangerous contraband like this.” He sighed theatrically, looking downcast. “Happens all the time I’m afraid.”

 

Batman snorted. “I just want to know who might’ve given this to...to whoever just broke into Blackgate Penitentiary.” He wasn’t going to let Penguin know Catwoman had been responsible, or that Killer Croc was now on the loose. Information was Cobblepot’s most lucrative product, and Batman wasn’t going to give it away for free.

 

“Ah, yes, I’d heard about the breakout,” he played with the device. “And this was primed to explode at one point?”

 

Batman nodded. “A trap had been set for us. Someone must’ve known we were going to be there.”

 

Penguin nodded. “Probably, yes. But of course, what you want is the remote control that goes with it, and I’m afraid Deadshot must still have _that_.”

 

“Well, I was going to have to go after Lawton anyway,” which was true, he had just hoped to be able to do so without _also_ having to worry about Killer Croc and Firefly at the same time. “So this is no real trouble.”

 

The Penguin tapped his parasol on the floor. “One more thing, Batman- the shipment that very dangerous device may have come in...well, _if_ it existed, it would’ve had a lot more LexCorp tech in it than that.” He paused, and looked up at Batman more seriously now, his monocle reflecting the light of the moon on its lens. “Some seriously _dangerous_ LexCorp technology that’s said to be capable of taking out metahumans.”

 

The Dark Knight narrowed his eyes. “And why would _someone_ bring that into Gotham, might I ask?” If Penguin had decided to start trading in super-weapons like the kind Lionel Luthor was making, then he needed to be sent to Blackgate for a few months, to be reminded of just how precarious his situation was.

 

“Well,” Penguin said, crushing his cigarette in an ornate ashtray. “Because maybe someone was told it was rare medical tech normally not sold in the states, and found out they’d been lied to by that smug bastard from Smallville who thinks he’s king of the world.”

 

Batman cocked his head. “Is that so? Well, in that case I’ll leave you to you... _philanthropy_.” He stormed out, not sure whether to believe Penguin’s insinuation or not.

  


Penguin sighed, and re-lit his cigarette. “Take care, Caped Crusader; I’ll be open all night, as always.” He turned to face the window, looking back out over the city. “Oh and I’m sure Alexei and Wu will appreciate you paying for their medical bills!” He laughed, knowing full well the Batman was already gone, off to hunt down his quarry.

 

He let out a puff of smoke, and noticed it was bat-shaped. “Here’s hoping our dear Dark Knight doesn’t get smoked himself…”

 

## THE QUESTION

 

The Question, face concealed again behind an opaque, fleshy mask, clung to the shadows cast by the derelict buildings on either end of the street. The snowfall had intensified from before, the ground had at least 4 inches at this point. Zsasz had been here when it was still falling; his footsteps were faint, half-buried in fresh snow. Enough path to work with.

 

Tracking Zsasz easier than thought- had gone to ground where expected. Warehouse on the waterfront, formerly owned by Zsasz’s corporation. Signs of recent break-in, went unreported. Too many crimes in area- lack of motivation to report them.

 

Made her way to the door- still ajar, Question kicked it open, then backed away. Sounds of movement and screeching from inside.

 

“Who’s there?!” A shrill, raspy voice cried out. She could practically _hear_ him sweating and biting his teeth. Zsasz spent past six months in solitary confinement after mutilating a guard, time had not been kind to him. Once a dangerous killer- now a frightened rat.

 

“No one,” the Question said, slinking to the left, away from the door, making her way to an opened window not far away. Zsasz clearly stepped closer to the door, likely with weapon in hand. Synchronized movements- entered window just as Zsasz exited door. Crept down from window onto floor; covered in dust and broken glass, must tread carefully.

 

Zsasz closed the door, clutching a rusty knife in one hand. He had grown emaciated in Blackgate- his once muscular body now reduced to a skeletal husk. His head, normally completely smooth, now had grown long and shaggy locks of dirty blonde hair. The scars covering his pallid, naked skin were faint- deprived of tools to cut himself with, they had grown quite faint. Unclad, save for a pair of torn jeans, he was shivering with cold as much as fear.

 

Had to move fast- had to keep him from spooking before she could disarm him. The Question summoned up her stealth training from Vic Sage- the only _real_ Victor Szasz, as far as she was concerned- and quietly crept through the dark, dusty warehouse.

 

She was three feet away when Zsasz began to turn around- no time to risk, not now. The Question leapt at him and planted a flying kick on his chest, slamming him into the door behind him. He tightly clutched the knife, swung wildly at her. Her right hand caught his wrist, her other hand slammed down on his face repeatedly.

 

Tightened grasp on his wrist, brought free hand around his throat. “Drop knife, now. Drop it.”

 

Zsasz whimpered, and complied. Solitary had broken him- before, Zsasz would have bit and fought like a rabid wolverine. Now he was just a frightened rabbit.

 

“Wha...what do you want. WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” He was screaming, and crying. If area weren’t deserted, would be worried about police or civilians hearing.

 

“I have some questions,” she said, in a dull whisper, “You have some answers.”

 

He shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. “No...no answers...not anymore.”

 

She released him from her grasp- after picking up his knife and slipping it into a kevlar bag. “Need to talk, please. Will take you somewhere safe.”

 

He looked up at her, his eyes wide and his lip trembling in a pitifully childish manner. “I..I...I want to go back to Arkham. Yes, nice safe Arkham- nice clean rooms and nice clean people, no knives...no knives…”

 

She cocked her head. “No knives?”

 

The crying, pathetic man nodded violently, “No knives! No more knives...no more…”

 

She left that for the good people at Arkham- hopefully Captain Montoya could try and get him transferred to Arkham. If he was this desperate, he might actually be salvageable. “No more knives, just questions.”

 

He nodded, and rubbed his runny nose. “Have answers for questions- many questions, maybe not as many answers.”

 

“First question- how did you escape from Blackgate?”

 

He gasped, and looked around nervously. “The...the cat. The black cat, came in and...and…” He trailed off, and started sucking on his thumb.

 

The Question put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and for a brief moment it seemed he was going to jump into the air and go back to his old ways. To her relief, he pulled his thumb out of his mouth, and started breathing more deeply.

 

“The cat came in and cracked the cage that kept the croc. She left a gift, for the dead-eyed man...the suicide man…”

 

Deadshot? Why was he calling him “The Suicide Man”? She saved that detail for later. “Keep going, Victor.”

 

He paused for a bit, and seemed to force himself to relax. “A gift for him...a gun for the gunman, and a _snack_ for the crocodile.”

 

“What kind of snack?” This must’ve been related to how Croc had broken open the cells.

 

“She...she did...she gave the Croc a snack, a treat, a gift.” He cocked his head, and giggled maniacally. “A ticking clock to feed the croc! Hahaha!”

 

“What did it do?”

 

He grinned at her, and giggled uncontrollably. Without warning, he leapt up at her, and before she could react- _slammed_ his knee into her gut, sending her flying backwards.

 

“Made him big, genius!” He laughed, and ran over to the shelf to the right, the one she’d walked on earlier. From it, he pulled a revolver, and slowly walked up to her. “He’s big and bad like _Bane_ now!”

 

 _Venom_ . Killer Croc, the military experiment gone horribly awry, was juiced up on _Venom_ now. Of course Croc wasn’t going to kill her now; Zsasz was. She cursed under her breath- how had she been so careless?

 

“Mask off, Question.” He laughed again, droplets of spittle dripping down his chin. “Need to know who I’m _marking_ before I make the _mark_.” He pulled a knife out of one of his pants’ pockets, and added a fresh cut to his skin.

 

“Victor Szasz,” she said, unable to resist the irony. “That’s “Szasz” with an “S”, mind.”

 

He snarled, and fired a round at the floor next to her head, sending concrete flying. A bit of it struck her in the temple, and her head was spun around from the force of it. Ugh, stupid clumsy detective, not restraining the serial killer, just because he cried crocodile tears.

 

“No more jokes! No more answers, Question! Now you die, you’re dead, you die! One less zombie in the world!” He stepped up very close, and pressed the still-smoking barrel against her bloody temple, burning the mask and singeing the skin beneath. She gritted her teeth, and struggled not to scream too loudly.

 

“Can’t you...at least tell me if there’s anything else? Does it really _matter_ that I know?”

 

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you- you were so _close_ to winning the little game anyway! Deadshot got his toys from the cat, Firefly ran out, got helped by some boys in masks, headed for the ACE Chemicals plant. Don’t know why or what they were getting there.” He licked his lips. “Me...I was just a distraction, they said- told me to go nuts! Ha, so, I did what I do. I’m gonna get...get a mark from from a superhero!”

 

He giggled again, and pressed the gun more firmly against her head. “Deadshot said something about ‘Making the Bat go boom’, hehe, sounds good, doesn’t it? He’s got a plan, I bet- good plan, good plan. Gonna kill him a bat!” He was getting awfully jittery- impressive he put up that facade earlier.

 

He calmed down enough to grin, staring down at her with wide, crazed eyes, spittle dribbling down onto the hard floor. “Okay, time’s up TIME’S UP time to kill time to right the mark TIME TO END!” He pulled the trigger of his revolver- and his eyes went wide when nothing happened but a faint ‘Click’.

 

The Question sprang into action, swinging her leg around to kick him right in his side, and sent him tumbling to the ground. Before he could get up, she ran over to him and slammed a foot into his gut, taking the wind out of him.

 

“But...I had them loaded and ready to kill when I left here…” He sounded so childishly disappointed at that, like he’d lost one of his favourite birthday gifts.

 

“Was here earlier,” she said, stomping on one of his hands again, eliciting a pathetic cry as he struggled uselessly “Emptied it- only round left in there was blank.” Admittedly that might’ve killed her if it had actually struck- evidently that gun had enough power that even a blank was shattering concrete. Huh.

 

He snarled and clawed at her foot with his free hand- to which the Question responded with another firm stomp. He screamed in pain this time, and flailed pathetically with his legs.

 

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Zsasz tried to bite at her, but found that the blue suit she was wearing was more than a decorative tuxedo; a certain fishnet-wearing magician had made some modifications to it for her, and now it was essentially indestructible. Not too helpful against bullets, all things considered, but it came in handy against anyone with a knife.

 

Her quarry’s hand securely locked, the Question dragged him to the door and clamped the other cuff to an old heating pipe. She knelt down to look him in the eye, draping a hand across one of her knees. “Any more information to share, Vic?”

 

He just glared at her, and snarled like some wild animal, kicking his legs against the ground and uselessly pulling against the pipe.

 

“I’ll take that as a no.” She got up, and walked back out into the night.

 

Once safely away from the warehouse, the Question changed back into Renee Montoya, and sent a message to Detective Sawyer letting her know Zsasz had been apprehended and was awaiting pickup at the old Zsasz warehouse on the northern waterfront.

 

That settled, she pulled up a special app downloaded a while ago. It was a heavily-encrypted instant messenger she’d gotten from the Commissioner’s daughter, Barbara. The girl had taken to hacking and data analysis since becoming paralyzed, and had gone so far as to adopt a semi-superheroic name of her own; “Oracle”.

 

More than once she’d been able to dig up dirt on all kinds of goings-on in Gotham, and elsewhere. Apparently she’d even gotten into contact with Nightwing, and the two seemed to have formed some kind of long-distance relationship. Renee had no idea what to make of that, honestly.

 

<Zsasz apprehended, new information.> She texted, and a scant few seconds later received her reply.

 

<What’s the info, Question?> Oracle had taken to the codenames thing rather quickly, Renee had to admit. It was interesting to see how quickly a civilian like Barbara took to the life of a ‘Mystery Man’, as the original Justice Society members had been called.

 

<Deadshot laying trap for Bat, requires assistance. Firefly re-armed at ACE Chemicals plant- will investigate further. Confirmation Venom used to enhance KC.>

 

<Agreed,> Oracle replied almost instantaneously. <Will send CC to him. Last known location?>

 

<Blackgate,> Question texted, then added, <Said he was going to IL.>

 

<Understood,> a half-second pause, then <Already on her way.>

After a bit of an awkward break, Renee decided to add. <Suspect this was planned for months- Deadshot’s arrest too easy.>

 

<Possibly, unlikely unless one of major bosses behind it- Penguin, Black Mask, or Thorne.> Seemingly as an afterthought, Oracle added, <Or Joker.>

 

That gave her pause- he was up in Rahway, unlikely to be escaping any time soon. Though she’d heard rumours his connections with good old Lionel Luthor were paying off and he was going to be released early…

 

<Unlikely,> Renee finally said, shaking off the thought, <More likely to be Penguin- Black Mask moving out of Gotham, Thorne laying low ever since last Halloween.> The day Carmine Falcone, closest thing Thorne had to an ally, had been murdered.

 

<Agreed,> Oracle said, then, as an addendum, <Have been to ACE Chemicals- not pleasant experience>

 

Renee grimaced, recalling how Gordon had almost had a mental breakdown that horrible night. <Understood- will watch my back.>

 

She flinched, realizing what an awful bit of phrasing that was. <Will be careful.>

 

After an agonizingly long minute of no response, Oracle simply said. <Don’t get shot in the spine- not fun!.>

 

Renee smiled, amazed at the resilience of this young woman that had, in the face of threats to her life and limb by the most monstrous gangster in the country, had risked her life and ultimately sacrificed her ability to walk to put him behind bars.

 

She could only hope she wouldn’t have to make such a sacrifice- and that if she did, she’d be able to follow through.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! So, some continuity notes;
> 
> 1\. Knightfall more-or-less already happened, as alluded to in this chapter. I'm probably never going to get to revisiting Knightfall, as there wouldn't be much to change, and I don't want to just transcribe the story into prose.
> 
> 2\. You'll notice Lionel Luthor is the CEO of LexCorp, and probably have some questions. First off, it's called LexCorp because 1. That sounds better than LuthorCorp, and 2. Because I've decided it's name used to be Lexington Corporation, and Lionel had it officially abbreviated. As for why it's Lionel instead of his son, well, I decided I liked having LexCorp around, but I also wanted to have the green-suited Pre-Crisis Luthor going around. Hence Lionel is the "Skinny Kingpin", and his rebellious son is the mad scientist running around.
> 
> 3\. You'll also notice that the references to Metropolis conspicuously don't mention a certain red-caped alien. The reason for that is that, in this continuity, Clark Kent hasn't become Superman yet. (I admittedly haven't decided yet- either he's still Superboy back in Smallville, or he's just doing good behind the scenes, keeping his existence secret. Regardless, he IS helping people, he's just not quite Superman yet).
> 
> 4\. Penguin is completely modeled after Paul Williams here, haha. He's one of my favorite casting choices for BTAS, and in general I'm a big Paul Williams fan- not to mention that I think he's one of those actors to have the right build to play Oswald, so I modeled Penguin after him here.
> 
> 5\. Here's where the "Where is Gotham" allusions start getting more explicit- honestly at this point it should be pretty obvious, but I kind of like being obnoxious about it.


	3. Boom, Deadshot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman hunts down Deadshot for information on who's behind the breakout at Blackgate, and finally meets his new partner.

##  CASSANDRA CAIN

 

Cassandra had been very busy that night; arriving in Gotham by cargo ship, finding the smart phone and weapons that Oracle had left for her, then racing to rescue Commissioner Gordon from the man in the armored suit. 

 

She was currently standing perched atop one of the city’s many cathedrals, on an eerie gargoyle overlooking a decrepit plaza on the northwestern corner of the Northern Island. Cassandra didn’t really know why she was here; it just felt natural, somehow. It was a relaxing sensation, overlooking the square. 

 

Oracle told her it had once been a marketplace; a spot for merchants from the north to bring in furs, merchants from the sea to bring in teas and spices, and local merchants to sell overpriced housing and food to the merchants. 

 

She had seen places like this a lot in her childhood, when her father was taking her across Southeast Asia. Some were as Oracle had described this place as once being; bursting with life, crowded, noisy, smelly. Others were like it was now; dead, like bones scattered in the tundra.

 

It had been about forty-five minutes since she had taken care of Firefly when her smartphone buzzed. She pulled it out of the pocket of her sweatshirt, and pressed the button Oracle had told her said “Facetime”.

 

On the other side was Oracle; as beautiful and curious as ever. Cassandra had never seen someone like her before; plenty of white people, of course, plenty with red hair. That wasn’t what made her interesting. She was smart, and very knowledgeable- particularly about things that had long confused Cassandra, like reading, writing, and electronics. This was appealing, but also not what she found interesting.

 

It was in her body language that she saw Barbara Gordon’s true nature; bound as she was to that wheelchair, unable to take direct action, there was an amazing amount of  _ life  _ in her. She moved her arms about with such enthusiasm Cassandra had seen her knock objects about more than once, including a cup of hot coffee. 

 

What’s more, despite the slight difference in age (Oracle was maybe 2 years older than Cassandra was), she had an enormous amount of maturity to her. She held herself like a woman twice her age, and was perhaps the first person Cassandra met since escaping her father that she felt comfortable taking orders from.

 

Barbara smiled at her as soon as she came on screen. “CC, glad to see you- are you doing alright?”

 

Cassandra nodded, signing <I’m Alright, not great. Sitting on a stone monster.>

 

Barbara raised an eyebrow at that. “A gargoyle? Why?”

 

She shrugged, unable to think of a response. <Comfortable.>

 

The redheaded woman burst out laughing, then covered her mouth suddenly. Off-camera, Cassandra heard Gordon come in and start talking. Barbara seemed to close the screen briefly, then re-opened it a few seconds later.

 

“Sorry about that, dad just wanted to be sure I’m okay,” she said, and started typing, “Alright, I got some news from Q.”

 

Cassandra nodded- she hadn’t yet met the faceless detective called “The Question”, but Oracle had assured her that she was a reliable source of information and a decent-enough fighter. That was good; Cassandra was good at reading body language, but terrible at picking up clues and following them. 

 

“She tells me that Batman is walking to a trap set by Deadshot- dangerous assassin, you know him.”

 

She narrowed her eyes. <Deadshot- dangerous, arrogant, sadistic. Batman’s in danger. I need to save him. Where is the trap?>

 

Barbara held up a hand. “Slow down there, CC. This isn’t something you can just jump into!”

 

<Where is he.> She wasn’t in the mood to waste time- Batman needed help, and she was going to give it.

 

Oracle lowered her gaze at Cassandra, and her eyes were briefly concealed by the glare of her computer screen. “CC, listen to me; Batman needs your help, yes, but you can’t just go to him. Deadshot is probably planning to ambush Batman- the last thing he’ll expect is for  _ you _ to ambush  _ him _ .”

 

Cassandra cocked her head. <What do you think I should do?>

 

The bespectacled woman grinned crookedly, and lowered her eyeglasses. She looked at Cassandra with those vibrant green eyes of hers, that seemed to look at her like she was the most fascinating book she’d ever read. “Well, step one is finding him…”

 

##  BATMAN

 

Batman scowled behind his mask, as he walked away from the Iceberg Lounge, and back to his motorbike. Fighting Bane again hadn’t been good on his health the last time, and while this fight went a little better...well, he was going to have some trouble the rest of the night. The suit had helped, sure, but he took too many blows in the fight. He’d need to be careful from here on out. 

 

Compressing his bike again, he rode down the snow-covered hill towards the parked Batsub. He was going to need to find Deadshot’s safe house, and for that he’d need to get back to the cave to use the Batcomputer. Thinking of the last time he used it, he briefly considered checking the email he’d received from “Oracle”, but decided against it; too likely to contain a virus, or some other program designed to infect his equipment. 

 

He made his way down the hill, and packed up his bike again. As he slid it into the sub, he saw that the snowfall hadn’t covered his footsteps leading up the hill, yet something seemed off…

 

It didn’t matter- he needed to get going. Opening up the sub, he crawled into its cockpit and flipped everything on, and the small space was flooded with the green lights of the various panels and screens. Batman punched in the coordinates for the Batcave, and sent a quick message to the Batcomputer informing Alfred that he was going to be returning. The sub’s engines whirred and hummed to life, and its propellers pulled the sub back off the shore and into the icy waters beyond.

 

Almost immediately, he realized something was very wrong; the faint, but unmistakeable sound of dripping water. The sub had a leak- he needed to get back to shore right away.

Unfortunately, it seemed the engines chose that exact moment to quit. To his horror, Batman realized that the fuel line had been cut, and he was now trapped in a sinking, listless submarine. He thought fast, and pulled open the manual override on the front gate- bracing himself for the rush of icy water. Remembering his lesson from the fight with Bane, Batman activated the other new feature of his suit and felt the suit seal itself completely to the outside, including the eye slits. To his surprise, the thin, white shields that now covered his eyes barely obscured his vision, if at all. Perhaps he should leave them like this for the future…

 

His thoughts were interrupted as the sub’s cockpit was sprung open, letting a rush of icy water flow in. The suit protected him from drowning, but he still felt the water’s icy chill, and had to fight hard to swim out of the cramped space against the rush of icy water. Powering through it, he saw that the sub had only moved a few feet away from the shore, and pulled the latch that released the batcycle. 

 

Using the suit’s strength, he pulled the compressed cycle with him as he swam to the shore, and hoisted it up onto the filthy, snow-covered sands. With equally tiresome effort, he pulled himself up onto the shore and opened the suit, allowing it to dry out.

 

Batman lay there for a few seconds to catch his breath, and thought through what had just happened; obviously the sub had been sabotaged, but by who? Deadshot wouldn’t pull something quite like  _ that _ \- he set traps, sure, but that was just too  _ boring _ . 

 

He thought back to the last time he’d been caught in a trap like that...it had been early in his career, back before he was more savvy about leaving his gear lying around. This had been a severe lapse in judgement, and someone had exploited it- someone who was keeping a close eye on him. 

 

Standing up, he looked over at the Iceberg Lounge- nobody seemed to have come down from there recently, but the amount of time he’d spent fighting Bane and talking to Penguin...it would’ve been just enough for Cobblepot to send someone down to cut the fuel line and poke a hole, but it happened too quickly.

 

Remembering what had just happened, Batman sent a new message to Alfred; send the drones to recover the sub, and drag it back to the cave for repairs. It had been a long time since a big piece of equipment like that was lost; he was either seriously off his game, or up against someone who knew him  _ very  _ well.

Something shined at him from the corner of his eye, and he spun his head to look at it. On the ground was a small deck of playing cards- perhaps it had a clue? He scanned it with his Batvision- nothing too interesting, save for the traces of hard drugs on it. Batman picked it up, and shuffled through. The drugs suggested organized crime, definitely, so maybe Thorne or…

 

...Jokers, the deck was comprised of 52  _ jokers _ . He threw them to the ground, and walked over to his bike. It had to be a trick- the Joker was in a state prison, wasn’t going to be let out  _ anytime  _ soon, and he had set up measures to keep the clown in jail. He wasn’t in town, he wasn’t  _ going  _ to be in town, and there was no way he had anything to do with this!

 

He put the thought aside, and got on the Batcycle. No, it was more likely Thorne had done it, really. Thorne was one of the longest-lasting gangsters in Gotham, and had been the only one of the old guard to survive his initial war on crime three years ago. The man knew what he was doing, and knew that Batman tended to rely on his vehicles and gadgets.

 

He drove a few feet, and then stopped when he heard his phone buzz again. Picking it up, he saw it was a call from Alfred. He activated the wireless comm built into his cowl, and heard Alfred speak.

 

“Master Bruce, are you quite alright? What happened to the Batsub?”

 

Batman sighed, and pressed a hand against his cowled forehead, wishing he could rub his temples to relieve this growing headache. “It sank.”

 

The terse reply elicited a groan from Alfred. “ _ How  _ did it sink, sir?” Alfred sounded half-concerned, half-annoyed.

 

“Sabotage; someone plugged holes in it, and cut the fuel line. It was sinking and the engine quit not long after it got going.”

 

“An ad hoc deathtrap,” his only living relative replied, sounding more impressed than disturbed, “That’s tricky work- any idea who did it?”

 

“No, not yet. I think…” he paused, recalling the ominous deck of cards. “I think it might’ve been Thorne.”

 

He could hear Alfred stroking his bearded chin, as he did when thinking long and hard about something. “Are you certain, sir?”

 

“There was some evidence planted to make me think the Joker did it,” Batman admitted, “But it couldn’t be genuine. The Joker isn’t in any position to do  _ anything  _ right now.”

 

“Though, a trap like that  _ does  _ sound like his style; economical, painful, horrific, and ironic.”

 

“Ironic? Ironic  _ how _ ?” He was genuinely confused- it wasn’t like he was especially fond of water, or like the submarine had been designed to play ironic music while he died. That would’ve been more like the Joker’s style.

 

“It’s your own technology, sir. A device  _ you  _ designed, and a device intended to keep you safe and help you move more quickly. Instead, it kills you while remaining immobile.”

 

Batman sighed, tired of this conversation. “Did you have anything else to talk about, Alfred? Anything pertinent to tell me?”

 

“I had a question, actually,” Alfred admitted, the sound of furious typing audible on the other side. “Have you taken the time to read this email; I can see you checked it earlier.”

 

“No Alfred...wait, have you  _ opened  _ it?” He was astonished that Alfred would be so careless.

 

“Yes, Bruce. It looked quite harmless- and I insist you take a look!”

 

Well, he was breaking out the first names. That meant he was serious, and Batman stopped his bike to check the message. His eyes went  _ wide  _ when he opened it; inside he found not a virus or other tracking program, but a map of Gotham that had been marked with the locations of various criminal safehouses and weapons caches. It was a veritable goldmine of information.

“Well, Master Bruce?” his Uncle inquired, sounding coy, “Is your phone still functional?”

 

“Yes, Alfred,” Bruce said, silently berating himself for being so paranoid, “It is.”

 

“I trust this information was useful, sir?” 

 

“Oh, very useful, Alfred. In fact, this is just what I needed.” Alfred acknowledged, and hung up after a quick goodbye. Batman got the Batcycle running again, and headed for the location “Oracle” had marked as one of Lawton’s safehouses.

\------

 

After about fifteen minutes of driving, Batman found himself at the Industrial District’s eastern edge, where the abandoned factory Deadshot had set up in was located. It was an old weapons manufacturing plant, perfect for a man like Lawton. The map he had been given suggested that Deadshot’s base was somewhere underneath the factory, and a quick scan with his Batvision revealed a concealed entrance that presumably lead to the factory’s basement.

 

He approached it gingerly, and realized that it was all too likely Deadshot had rigged it to explode if anyone other than himself entered it. Batman deployed a small flying drone used for this kind of scenario and had it hover near him, as he gently opened the door- and found that, if nothing else, it wasn’t rigged to explode automatically. Remembering the way his unattended vehicle had been sabotaged earlier, he took the batcycle and moved it to a quiet corner, where he concealed himself as well.

 

          His little drone was synced to his eye cameras, and hovered on miniature VTOL jets into the dark basement. As it went in, he took a catalogue of what it found; initially, there was nothing noteworthy. The hallways were dull grey concrete, marked with graffiti.

 

Deeper into the hideout, the drone’s camera feed showed a distinct lack of any kind of equipment or provisions, and he grew suspicious. Had Oracle’s information been out of date? Were they setting him up, or some prankster?

 

Just as he was beginning to doubt the veracity of the information, the drone finally showed him something: a vault door, sealed shut. The drone was equipped with a blowtorch, but it would only be able to cut out the lock. Batman would need to open the door himself; reluctantly, he had the drone begin cutting, and walked down the long corridor. Along the way, he resealed his suit; in addition to protecting against drowning, total suit sealing locked it’s plates, which protected against explosives almost as well as a bomb squad suit.

 

As he strode through the dank, dusty basement, he saw the outlines of furniture removed from the dusty floor. Deadshot, or possibly someone working with him, had already moved out. 

He stopped, before making his way to the door; now he was  _ certain  _ it was rigged. He turned back to the door; knowing Deadshot, he probably had set up a sniper perch outside. 

 

Taking a look around the room, he also saw that whatever had been moved out would’ve required a rather large crew to move out. Deadshot’s employer was likely providing him with the required staff and equipment to move it. 

 

Batman considered the situation, and his options; Deadshot was likely outside, waiting for him to either come out or be destroyed by whatever trap he had set in the vault. If he just walked out, he’d either be sniped or, more likely, evade the attack and flush his quarry before they could be ensnared. 

 

No, he needed Deadshot to think he had sprung the trap- and to avoid it all the same. Approaching the door, he pulled out his Batclaw and clamped the metal hook to the vault’s handle. Then, backing away slowly and carefully across the room, he allowed the cable to extend as far as possible until he was nearly up the stairs; Lawton had likely trained his sight on the door already, making heading outside too hazardous to attempt. 

 

Thankfully, he had a way to be sure- calling back his drone, he had it hover outside and scan the outside- but it needn’t have bothered, as Deadshot took it out. He might’ve decided to run after that, but more likely he just repositioned to another roof. Odds were good he’d shoot Batman as soon as he left, then. He had no way out of this trap but through it.

 

Bracing himself for whatever Deadshot had rigged, he pulled his grapple’s trigger and it sprung into action, pulling the already-severed door from its wall, before becoming stuck under it. He dropped the claw, and braced himself against the ajar door. For a split-second he suspected that Deadshot  _ hadn’t  _ actually set a trap, but his earlier suspicions were confirmed when the building shook- and down the stairs he saw the space consumed by fire. 

 

Though he evaded the explosion, the flames were intense enough to flood the chilled space with heat. What’s more, the explosion had generated noxious vapors- scanning them with his Batvision, he saw that it was a gaseous toxin designed by one of LexCorp’s old shell corporations, a lethal biotoxin that would kill upon skin contact. Sealing the suit was all that had saved him from certain death. 

 

Not knowing if Deadshot had expected him to survive, Batman opted to fling the door open wide and started running out into the factory’s snowy courtyard. He kept his movement in a serpentine pattern, hoping that his foe’s vanity would keep him from even attempting a shot.

 

True to form, Deadshot wasn’t wasting his shots on a moving (And armored) target; instead he deployed a set of gas grenades around the area that flooded the space with CS gas.

Before Batman could figure out how to take advantage of his own protection from the gas, he was flung backwards by the force of a bullet hitting him square in the faceplate; something that would’ve been fatal had he been using his old suit, with its deployable gas mask.

 

“What the fuck?!” He heard Deadshot cry out, loud enough to be heard throughout the courtyard. Batman turned his head towards the sound, and saw the small figure perched atop an old boarding house, and shot his grappling hook straight at the ledge. He was rapidly pulled into the air, and leapt onto the roof. Unfortunately, Deadshot was no fool and had taken flight- he was still in sight, but it was unlikely he’d be able to catch up. 

 

He saw Deadshot at the other end of the roof, and was ready to try and catch him with his backup Batclaw- when out of nowhere, a small figure clad in black ambushed the assassin and began pummeling him senseless, disarming him and stripping his guns. Within seconds Floyd Lawton was totally disarmed and helpless, moaning in pain as the small yet solidly-built assailant pinned him to the ground.

 

Now curious as well as impressed, Batman raced forward. “Who are you, what are you doing here?”

 

The woman looked up at him, but was silent. Then, she raised up a hand, and began to sign….

 

##  CASSANDRA CAIN

 

<My name’s CC, Oracle sent me to help,> She paused, then remembered what had happened before, <I’m mute, not deaf.>

 

Batman seemed to mull that over a bit, then nodded. “Alright- I have some questions for you, but they can wait until after we interrogate Deadshot.”

 

The mercenary groaned, and tilted his head up at Cassandra. “Who...what’s going on…”

 

“I’m asking the questions, Lawton.” Batman cut in, “Well, unless you speak sign language?”

 

“What? Why?” He shook his head, “You going deaf?”

 

Cassandra slightly increased the pressure on his chest, eliciting a slight cry of pain. 

 

Batman held up a hand, then started signing. <Don’t injure him- it never helps with an interrogation.> He got a bit closer. <And for that matter, I don’t think it’s wise to commit crimes. Too risky.>

 

She nodded, and laid off a bit- Oracle had told her that despite his fearsome reputation, the Batman avoided actually harming people any more than he absolutely had to, and that he generally obeyed the law. That had been part of the reason she wanted to work with him in the first place, after all. 

 

“Now, Floyd,” Batman continued, bending down to look right at the masked assassin, “Who hired you?”

 

He coughed, and his answer was half a wheeze, “Guy called Joe- ‘s all I know.”

 

Batman cocked his head; clearly he couldn’t tell if that was a joke, or a sign that his enemy was intelligent enough to use an alias. Cassandra considered the possibility herself, and recalled how her father had rarely met his clients face to face. All the same, he’d made it a habit of figuring out  _ who  _ it was, even when they demanded anonymity. She found it surprising that any assassin would willingly take a contract from a totally unknown employer.

 

Clearly sensing his interrogator’s disbelief, Deadshot continued. “I’m not joking, alright? Guy used intermediaries- I only know his name’s Joe ‘cause that was what the checks said.”

 

“Do you have any of those checks on you?” 

 

“No, I was given one for a down payment, which I already cashed. I was only gonna get the other one if I shot  _ you _ …” he paused, reconsidering his statement, “...and killed you, I mean. Clearly I  _ did  _ shoot you. How’d you survive that, anyway?”

 

Batman groaned. “Do you have the control device for that capacitor that was used to open your cell, back at Blackgate?”

 

Deadshot laughed. “No, and I never did- I didn’t place that piece of LexCorp trash. I ran like Hell as soon as Croc ripped open my cell!”

 

Cassandra could see that, mixed in with a degree of confusion, anger and disbelief were rising in Batman. Even masked by the heavy suit, his tension was  _ palpable _ .

 

“Then...no, it can’t be.”

The mercenary cut in, half-screaming in irritation. “Yes! Alright, yes! It was your damned Cat- and don’t worry, I don’t think she  _ wants  _ to do it, okay? The Boss has clearly got something on her...or some _ one _ …” He sounded almost sad at that; the man took lives to make his living but even he clearly held some sympathy for Catwoman’s situation, whatever it was.

 

Batman  _ screamed _ , and slammed his fist down onto the ceiling, shattering the concrete and sending it flying. Deadshot shouted in alarm, clearly concerned that he was going to be hit next. 

 

“ **You think that makes me feel any** **_better_ ** **, Floyd** ?!” Now he was just plain  _ pissed _ , but with who Cassandra was unsure. His shouting turned to screams of frustration and rage.

 

“Look, I can tell you where I last saw her- is that good enough?! I’ll walk myself back to Blackgate for you, I swear it- just put in a good word for me with Gordon or Dent okay?!”

 

Batman relaxed himself, and calmly turned back to face Lawton. “Noted, Deadshot- you have my word,” he leaned in  _ very  _ close to the masked mercenary, “But if you don’t, you’re my number 1 priority once tonight’s mess is sorted out!”

 

Deadshot shook his head, as furiously as he could with it pressed against the ground. “You got it! Okay, I last saw her on Douglass bridge, crossing to Little Island, okay?”

 

Batman nodded, and motioned for Cassandra to release him. Deadshot shot a startled look at her; he was clearly astonished to see he had been overwhelmed and pinned down by a woman maybe two-thirds his body weight. She narrowed her eyes at him, and pointed in the direction of Blackgate. 

 

The mercenary nervously looked at Batman- who nodded, as if to remind him of something- then ran off in the direction of the prison, all without saying a word.

 

“Alright- CC, was it?” Cassandra nodded. “Alright, I appreciate your help, but-”

 

She ran up to him, and began signing furiously before he could continue. <And you  _ need  _ it! You don’t work well alone- I’ve seen it! I saw footage of you fighting with Robin. You were  _ unstoppable  _ back then! You need someone to work with, clearly. You need someone smaller, faster, lighter than you. For situations just like this!>

 

He was clearly stunned silent, and for a good minute not a word was exchanged. Finally, he spoke. “How old are you?”

<18- and I’ve done things much more dangerous than this before,  _ trust  _ me.> She cocked her head at him. <And so have you, when you were...maybe 15? 16?>

 

“How could you possibly...no, nevermind. I can tell you’ve got a gift, that much is certain. What I need to know is  _ why  _ you want to help me? Why would you choose a life like this?”

 

She paused, having to think that over for only a second. <Because someone needs to do it- and I’m good at this.> She frowned, remembering what the real, fundamental reason was. <And because I’m not good at anything besides fighting- at least this way I can  _ help  _ people!>

 

He raised a hand, almost putting it on his shoulder before reconsidering. Without quite knowing why, Cassandra ran up to him and hugged him close. To her surprise, he didn’t act surprised or uncomfortable, and carefully wrapped his arms around her back.

 

“Alright,” he said, gently backing out of the embrace, “You’re in.” 

 

She beamed at him, and barely restrained herself from hugging him again. This was it, this was the moment!

 

She was finally going to be  _ helping  _ someone!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I had planned for Deadshot to be the one behind the device being set off, but I realized it didn't make sense with the logistics of how I'd written the scene, nor was it really a logical fit for the evil plan.


	4. Punchline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now partnered up with Cassandra, Batman searches for Catwoman to find whoever is behind the breakout at Blackgate- and is stunned at what he finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Catwoman is Brazillian in this continuity- that's all I got to add at the start here.

#  CATWOMAN

 

Catwoman was pacing about in the cramped living room of her concealed home away from home, trying desperately to think of a way out of this Hell. She’d put on a couple classic movies to keep her mind off things- but her love of noir romance films just kept reminding her of Batman.

 

Even with the heat up and while wearing a warm coat, the place was  _ freezing _ ! Cold, why was it so  _ cold _ \- it was November and this was New Jersey. It didn’t get  _ this  _ cold, especially not this far south! She screamed in utter frustration, and started clawing at one of her couch pillows just to vent her rage. When she had shredded it completely, it suddenly hit her just how  _ insanely  _ she was acting, and she opted to take a bath to just let herself  _ relax _ .

 

The bathroom was small, but the bath itself was a nice, large tub that could fill up quickly enough. In spite of how cold the place was, the water managed to heat up nicely enough in no time at all. Selina threw off her clothes and dove in, letting the steaming water wash over her.

She hadn’t been thinking right these past few days- times had been tough. Black Mask was getting increasingly determined to snuff her out, Bats had been moodier than normal, and poor Holly had pneumonia. 

 

She screamed again, remembering  _ why  _ she was in this situation in the first place- she  _ knew  _ better than to take Holly to a local hospital, but she had done it anyway! And the completely, utterly predictable had happened- one of her enemies, aware of how important Holly was to Catwoman- had kidnapped her. 

 

Selina found herself crying again, remembering the last time she saw Holly; terrified, so sick she seemed half-dead, with bruises covering her face, sobbing and barely able to speak. Her kidnapper had been unambiguous; either Batman would die, or Holly would. It was as though God had decided she wasn’t suffering enough for her life decisions- now  _ other  _ people had to suffer, too!

 

She stopped herself-  _ Take deep breaths, Selina _ .  _ Holly’s okay, you know she’s okay- and Batman..he’s probably going to save her. Probably. _

 

If he even  _ knew, _ maybe he would. Odds were good though that he  _ didn’t  _ know- and of course her employer had told her in no uncertain words that Holly would be killed if Batman met her and got away alive.

 

She had actually hoped back at Blackgate that the little LexCorp bomb would do it- it’d be quick, at least, and she wouldn’t have to...he wouldn’t have to find out  _ she  _ killed him.

 

_ Cold comfort, Selina- cold comfort to his mother, father, to whoever else he’s got in his life. _ Well, if he had  _ anyone _ ...except her, anyway.  _ Oh, that’s a nice self-burn there _ .

 

Her hands tingled, and Selina saw she had been in the tub long enough to start pruning. Sighing, she stood up and wiped herself clean with her towels, and emptied the tub out. Not bothering to throw her clothes back on, she walked to her bedroom and slid under the covers. Maybe if she killed herself the man who kidnapped Holly would just let her go- he hated her enough, clearly. No, man was a psychopath- he’d think it was  _ hilarious  _ that she’d been so broken. Hell, that might’ve been his whole  _ point _ \- he was the sort who liked to break people, prove they weren’t any better than him.

 

A gentle mewing cried out, and Selina peeked out over her thick covers to see a tiny ball of black fur pad its way across the bed over to her. It was Bast, her newest cat, and the only one that she was keeping in the bunker. The others were back at home, and the reminder that she might never see them again- that they might starve to death locked in that apartment- was the last push Selina needed to fall apart. She gave in to her feelings of despair, and began to weep openly.

 

Unfazed by her mistress’s crying, Bast bumped her head against Selina’s and purred softly. The little fuzzball tickled her, and in spite of everything Selina found herself laughing. Desperate for any bit of warmth she could find, she picked up the kitten and held her close, to the feline’s audible contentment.

 

She laid there for what felt like ages- naked, her face soaked with tears, holding onto a little black tabby as though she was her own child. For a brief moment she was able to feel content with life. 

 

Just then, however, she heard a heavy knocking at the door- and a very distinctive shout. 

 

“Catwoman! It’s me, Batman! Let me in!”

 

It was him- it  _ had  _ to be him! Selina beamed, realizing what this meant; the bunker was isolated, away from any possible observation. She could talk to Batman here, tell him what was going on, and enlist his help in finding Holly! She leapt out of bed, and threw on her catsuit and mask, then ran to the door and threw it open-

 

-only to see that Batman wasn’t alone, this time. He was there, of course- wearing a striking new suit she’d never seen before- but standing by his side was a small, (Albeit muscular) young woman. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, but her body language suggested she was more concerned than truly angry.

 

“Batman! And...friend?” 

 

The young woman nodded, and signed something too quickly for Selina to interpret. It looked like American Sign Language, anyway- Selina only knew  _ Brazilian  _ Sign Language. 

 

“She’s not deaf, she’s mute,” said Batman, apparently translating. “Look, Catwoman- I know what you’ve done. I just want to know  _ why _ ”

 

Catwoman composed herself, and laid out exactly what had happened with Holly, up to and including who she’d been kidnapped by.

 

“No,” Batman said, slamming his fist into the doorframe, “No you’re  _ lying _ !”

 

But she wasn’t lying- she knew who she saw.

 

It was the Joker.

  
  


##  CASSANDRA CAIN

 

_ Some Time Earlier... _

<So, what do we do first?>

 

Batman scanned the horizon, and looked back at her. “We need to find Catwoman, but she’s got more than one safehouse scattered around Gotham.” He pulled out what looked to be a customized smartphone, “I’ve been keeping tabs on her for some time, I know where she’s likely to go.” He motioned for her to follow. “We’re going to need to move quickly, check out the nearest safehouse by traveling on foot, then take to the Batmobile.”

 

She followed along, not asking if this meant the Batmobile was stored near wherever they were going, or if someone was going to be driving out to meet them. Was she going to get to meet the mysterious assistant Oracle said he had? 

 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Batman reached the edge of the roof, and beckoned her to come close. 

 

“Cassandra, I need you to let me hold on to you as we descend. For the sake of safety I’m going to tie you to me, alright?”

 

She cocked her head, but signed in the affirmative. He pulled out a length of cord and fastened it to his belt, then wrapped it around her body in a careful pattern (That she could tell was designed to support her without risking blocking blood flow). Batman pulled her close, and leapt off the roof. For a brief moment Cassandra was terrified- they were in freefall and at  _ least  _ five stories up. She was used to parkour but not  _ base-jumping _ .

 

Just as quickly, Batman’s cape unfurled into wings that caught the air like a parachute, and gently brought the two of them to the ground. At no point did he evidence discomfort or betray any signs of imbalance in spite of the extra weight, which surprised her. She wondered if this had been what he did when he had that young man working with him- or if this was just something he was used to doing in general, except with captured criminals and imperiled civilians. 

 

Softly, they touched down on the snow-covered ground, and Batman released Cassandra from the safety cord. They were on Kent’s Way now, one of the oldest streets in town. She’d scanned her map of Gotham pretty thoroughly, and could imagine a few good hiding spots on this road. It was full of old buildings, some of them pre-Georgian era. Most of them were crumbling wrecks of brick, though a handful of the buildings had clearly been converted to businesses and inhabited apartments. The street was deathly quiet, and only a few of the apartments had any lights on. What was going on in this town, that it’s denizens seemed to disappear en masse when the sun went down?

 

Batman turned to her, and gestured towards an old abandoned opera house. Without a word, he started walking, not even running but  _ walking  _ to their destination. 

 

She tried repeatedly to get his attention so she could ask him some questions, but he seemed oblivious to the noises she was making. Frustrated, she ran around in front of him and started signing furiously.

 

<I still have questions, they need answering! Why is this place so  _ quiet _ , who is Catwoman? And why is she trying to kill you?>

 

He stopped briefly, and sighed heavily. “That’s a long story- I’ll explain it to you as we walk, alright?”

 

She nodded, but kept ahead of him so he wouldn’t be able to ignore her signing.

 

“To begin with, this place is like the rest of Gotham; it’s too dangerous at night for most people to go out, and they try to keep quiet to avoid drawing too much attention to themselves.”

 

<What kind of criminals would attack people  _ because  _ they’re awake?>

 

“This town wasn’t just crime-ridden, Cassandra; it was home to a unique breed of crime. ‘Super-Criminals’, they were usually called, but most of...most of the people like  _ me  _ call them supervillains. Some of them are just serial killers like Mr. Zsasz, but many of them are so much more dangerous than the likes of him.”

 

<Like that clown, the Joker?>

 

Batman laughed without mirth, and stopped in his tracks. He walked up to Cassandra, and got very close to her. “Be careful calling him a clown, Cassandra.”

 

<Why?>

 

He looked around, like he was scanning the area for potential attackers. “He doesn’t like being made fun of.”

 

<But...didn’t he dye his skin and hair?>

 

Batman nodded. “He did- and he did it to ‘test’ the people working for him. If they thought he looked ridiculous, he would  _ kill  _ them, and  _ everyone  _ they cared about. He likes to pretend he’s just another mobster with a gimmick, like Black Mask and Penguin; if anything, he’s so much  _ worse  _ than the likes of them. Penguin has his standards, and his uses.”

 

She cocked her head. <Who’s Black Mask?>

 

“Oh, he’s an ex-lieutenant of Rupert Thorne’s, who managed to build his own criminal organization after a bit of a civil war with his former boss. Word is that he’s finally leaving Gotham, though- not surprising either. He’s been losing revenue due to a string of stings the GPD managed to pull on him, not to mention the problems Catwoman’s given him.”

 

<The woman we’re chasing? So she’s on  _ your  _ side?>

 

He laughed again, much more warmly this time. “Not exactly...she’s on her own side. Whether that side is good or not is pretty inconsistent, but my experience is that she tries to do the right thing, no matter what.” He looked up, straight at the old opera house. “Which is why her current behavior has me very worried.”

 

Cassandra’s pocket buzzed, but she was too engrossed in this to check her phone. <You think she’s being coerced?>

He nodded. “I  _ know  _ she’s being coerced,” he said, standing up and getting moving again, “And for her to be coerced to try and kill  _ me _ ...something  _ terrible  _ is going on.”

 

A chill went down Cassandra’s spine, when the implications of what that meant sunk in. She caught up with Batman, staying behind him this time and watching both of their backs.

 

They made their way to the decrepit-looking opera house, and Batman motioned for her to stay outside, while he scouted the interior. After a few tense minutes, he returned and brought her inside, an active lantern in one of his hands. The white light showed to her that despite what she had heard, Batman’s armor wasn’t black, but a shining silver. 

 

To Cassandra’s amazement, the opera’s insides in no way matched it’s ruined exterior. It looked less like an opera house than some kind of bunker. The walls were a burnished steel, the floor was covered in a utilitarian grey carpet. Aside from the vestibule they had come in through, there didn’t seem to be any functional rooms aside from the steel hallway they were going into.

 

Despite the space’s atmosphere of a military installation, the walls were covered with what looked like priceless works of art.

 

<What are all these?> Cassandra signed, as the two of them walked through the luxuriously decorated hallway.

 

“Duplicates,” Batman said dismissively, running his hand along the walls as they passed them by, “Worthless, really- but nice for decoration.”

 

She noticed one that depicted an old man in armor, riding on a white horse and draped in a white cloak with a red cross on it. Cassandra tugged on Batman’s cape gently, and asked him. <What’s this one?>

 

He turned to it, and paused a bit before responding. “It’s called  _ The Last Crusader _ , not by anyone too famous.” he was about to turn around, but when he saw that she was unsatisfied with this answer he let out a breath, and continued, “It’s supposed to depict an old member of the Knights Templar returning from war in the Levant, after the last of the Crusaders were driven out by Baibars.” He paused, then continued, “Or probably Salah ad-Din, because I doubt the artist understood the exact chronology.”

 

Cassandra nodded, “What were the Crusades?”

 

Despite his heavy-looking armor, it was obvious that Batman was cringing at the thought of having to answer that question. “They were some wars, centuries ago. Roman Catholics from Europe sent armies to invade the Middle East...and Greece.”

 

She cocked her head. <Why did they do that, exactly?> She had heard second-hand from a lot of Europeans and Americans about the Crusades, but most of the descriptions had been extremely vague. 

 

“Because they believed it was the right thing to do- and they killed thousands of people in the process.”

 

She looked back at the painting; the man in it didn’t look like a mass murderer, but he didn’t look like a man who was exactly guilty over what he had done, either; he looked  _ angry _ that he had to leave wherever he was leaving, or maybe frustrated that he had to return to wherever he was going.

 

<Why did this person paint him like he is, then? So unrepentant-looking.>

 

He turned around, and knelt before her. “Because the man who painted this didn’t think about all the people this knight hurt; he just thought about the glory of going into battle and fighting ‘evil’ men, wearing shining armor and bearing symbols meant to inspire their allies and terrify...their enemies…” he trailed off.

 

She cocked her head a bit at him, puzzled by his reaction. <Something wrong?>

 

He shook his head, “No, no nothing’s wrong...let’s just keep moving.” He made it to the end of the hallway, and stared at it for a few minutes before pressing an innocuous looking part of the wall. As he applied pressure, Cassandra saw that the wall was in fact a revolving door. Batman slid inside, clearly having some difficulty fitting through the narrow passageway. 

 

She was about to follow him in when she heard a shout of frustration, and saw that his cape had gotten stuck on the door. To her confusion, Batman ran  _ away  _ from the door, further into the room. For a moment it seemed he was trying to choke himself, but to her surprise his cape popped off as soon as it went fully taut.  

 

He turned to face her, and cocked his head in wry amusement. “Pull tabs- you didn’t think I’d run around with a cape that could get snagged on any old door, did you?” He ushered her into the room, and she followed him in, trying not to trip on the cape stuck in the doorway.

 

The room was completely bare, but Batman didn’t seem surprised by this at all. “I didn’t expect her to still have anything here,” he said, pacing, “I guess I was just hoping she’d miss something...or maybe leave me a clue.”

 

For a few minutes the two of them just sat there, and Cassandra decided she needed something to do while they waited. <How long until the Batmobile gets here?>

 

Batman checked his smartphone, “I’d say another ten minutes. Why do you ask?”

 

<I just want to know how we’re going to  _ find  _ her.> She looked around the room, vainly trying to see if she noticed something he wouldn’t. Her own skills as a trained assassin left her rather skilled at searching for the clues needed to track someone down, but she wasn’t equipped like Batman was. Suddenly, her eyes went wide when she sensed something- or rather, she  _ smelled  _ something. It smelled like  _ lavender _ , and it was entirely out-of-place in this sterile environment. 

 

It was very faint, but as she lowered herself to the ground, she found the smell got much stronger. It was clearly localized somewhere in this room, as she moved around the scent grew stronger and fainter. 

 

“I’m not sure,” he said, oblivious to her olfactory observation, “I’m a detective, not a magician- I can’t track her down without any evidence...” he trailed off, finally noticing what she was doing. “Cassandra? What are you doing?!” He sounded more than a little concerned that she was on all fours, sniffing the floor like a dog.

 

Cassandra was ignoring him, following her nose to whatever was stinking so strongly of sweet flowers, until she finally found it; a small, barely noticeable outline in the floor marked what was clearly a trapdoor, right below the wall opposing the doorway. Wrapping her fingers as tightly as she could around its edges, she pulled  _ hard  _ on the door and managed to pull it open. 

 

Behind her, Batman came running up like a maniac, barely stopping himself from running into the nearby wall. “It’s...how did you  _ find  _ that?” 

 

She motioned to her nose, and then pointed to the trapdoor- inside was a small steel case, surrounded by what looked to be fresh lavender. 

 

The man was dumbstruck for a full minute, before slapping his cowled forehead. “Smell, of  _ course _ ,” he looked at her, “I forgot that women have a stronger sense of smell.”

 

She beamed, and handed him the steel case. He took it happily, and pulled out a tool to gently unlock it. He pulled the contents out and let the box clatter to the floor, and scanned it for a few seconds.

 

“This is a data drive of some kind…” His phone buzzed, and he laughed, this time a genuine laugh of happiness. “Come on! We’ll use the Batmobile’s computer to make use of this!”

 

The two of them bolted out of the building, and made their way to the Batmobile; Cassandra’s jaw nearly  _ dropped  _ when she first saw the machine. It wasn’t that it was something unusual, oh no- the Batmobile was shockingly  _ mundane _ . It was some kind of...armored  _ truck _ , smaller in fact than many of the cars popular with American consumers. It had been heavily retrofitted, equipped with floodlights, front guards, cameras, driving sensors, a grappling hook and radio antennae. She could see how it was useful but...it was just a regular  _ car _ .

 

Unperturbed by her obvious surprise, Batman pulled the driver door open, and motioned for Cassandra to come in the passenger side. She did so, and found that the interior was only slightly more unusual than the exterior; the dashboard was covered in non-standard electronic equipment, the seats were made of an uncomfortably tough material- possibly kevlar- and the back seats were separated from the front by a set of bars, like a police car.

 

That made sense of course...it was just surprising, was all.

 

Without skipping a beat, Batman had plugged the data drive into a USB port on the dashboard, and one of the Batmobile’s computer screens sprang to life, displaying a desktop screen to an operating system she was unfamiliar with.

 

The screen was filled with a progress bar that displayed ‘Decrypting’- that completed so quickly she could barely even see it. The display then changed to the contents of the drive, and a few folders were displayed; ‘Laundry List’, ‘Homecoming’, ‘Date Night’.

 

Batman pulled open ‘Homecoming’, and laughed again when it was opened up. Cassandra couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but before she could ask what it was Batman explained for her.

 

“It’s a map! It’s an outline of her plans! Here,” he said, pointing to an old warehouse on the north coast of Gotham, “This is where she is! We’ve got her!”

 

He plugged the coordinates into the Batmobile’s computer, and sped off, barely giving Cassandra enough time to buckle her seatbelt.

 

##  BATMAN

 

He felt  _ sick _ \- this was  _ impossible _ ! Joker was imprisoned, in Rahway!

 

“Barbara Gordon didn’t get her  _ spine  _ shot out for the Joker to just  _ break out! _ ”

 

“I know what I saw, Batman! It was  _ him _ \- white skin, green hair, red lips! Dragged Holly off to ACE Chemicals and everything!”

 

He pulled Cassandra inside and slammed the door shut. “Why would you  _ work  _ for him! You know he’s just...he’s just…” he caught himself, but it was too late.

 

Catwoman had burst into tears again, and screamed at him. “He’s just going to  _ kill  _ her you mean?! Don’t you think I  _ know  _ that?! Don’t you think I tried  _ everything  _ just to get her to safety!”

 

Cassandra, who had been very still this whole time, now leapt in between them. <Stop!> She signed...in Brazilian Sign Language, to Catwoman’s visible amazement. <Why don’t we just go to rescue this girl- Holly- she needs our help!>

 

Batman let out a sigh, and nodded. “You’re right, Cassandra- there’s nothing for it, we need to at least  _ try _ .”

 

Catwoman fell to her knees and sobbed. “He’s...he’s going to  _ kill  _ her if you get anywhere near her, though!”

 

He knelt down to her, and popped open his facemask, and smiled warmly at her. “But he won’t know her,” he said nodding his head at Cassandra, “She took down  _ Deadshot _ , Catwoman- she doesn’t need our help to rescue your friend.”

 

Catwoman’s mouth went wide, and she stared openly at the young woman. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

Just then, there was a knocking at the door- as furious as there had been before.

<Mother of  _ God _ >, Catwoman exclaimed in Portuguese, then shook herself and continued in English, “He...he found me! Holly’s dead, he’s come to kill me and...and…” she slapped herself, and narrowed her eyes. “And he’s  _ dead _ .” 

 

Before Batman could do anything, she leapt to her feet and threw the door open, ready to claw out the eyes of whoever was there- but then stopped herself cold when she saw who it was.

 

“Hey there, Kitty Cat!” A very,  _ very  _ familiar voice shouted out in a warm, pleasant tone. Catwoman stepped back and laughed, and Batman got a good look at who it was; a young, dark-skinned man wearing a domino mask, and clad in a black-and-blue jumpsuit. He was grinning broadly, and brandishing a pair of his stun batons.

 

It was Dick- Nightwing now, rather than the Robin Bruce used to know- but it was his old friend.

 

Catwoman seemed to be as happy as he was, outright  _ hugging  _ Nightwing and laughing. “Is that you, Robin? I heard you got a new costume, butt…” she looked him up and down, and whistled, “ _ Damn _ .”

  
  


He laughed, but his expression turned serious- or at least, as serious as Dick ever got- and he spoke. “I know you’re worried about Holly- she’s safe, but there’s not much time to explain.”

 

It was then that Batman noticed the many scrapes and cuts covering Dick’s outfit; no blood, but clearly some irritated skin. Some of it looked..chemical…

 

“You went to ACE Chemicals?”

 

He nodded. “On a tip from our  _ inquisitive _ friend,” he turned to face Catwoman, who looked about ready to  _ kiss  _ him, “She’s safe, with a good friend. Unfortunately,  _ her  _ safety means  _ we  _ are in a bit of trouble.”

 

Batman resealed his faceplate. “What do you mean, Nightwing?”

 

Dick sighed, and closed the door behind him. “Well, ‘Fred was the only person available to get Holly out of there, and I needed to keep those goons off of him…”

 

“Joker’s chasing you?!” Catwoman said, sounding half-enraged. 

 

He cocked his head. “Joker?”

“Yeah, the Joker- the man who hired me! You know, white skin, green hair, red lips?”

 

Nightwing turned to Cassandra, and pointed at her. “You! Oracle sent you a message- didn’t you  _ check _ ?”

 

The young woman went white, and realized she had indeed ignored a message earlier. Pulling out her phone, she nearly screamed when she saw what she had ignored.

 

“What is it, Cassandra?”

 

She didn’t bother to explain it with signs, and just shoved the phone into Batman’s hands.

He opened up the message, and read it aloud.

 

“‘CC, I have some information you really need to hear; Catwoman is being coerced into doing this. Her friend, Holly Robinson, being held at ACE Chemicals plant- Question found her, I’m sending in Nightwing to go rescue her. You need to tell Batman about this, and get him and Catwoman somewhere safe- preferably somewhere far away from her safe house...which I’ve mapped out for you.’”

 

He paused, and looked at Catwoman, who shrugged. Clearly she was as confused as him that this anonymous hacker had managed to track down her hidden bunker so easily.

 

“‘Deadshot returned to Blackgate, thankfully. Firefly gone missing- police escort burned alive. Reports of unusual vehicles on streets- possibly LexCorp.’”

 

Nightwing tapped his shoulder. “Babs said you already spoke to Penguin, right? Any idea what they might have.”

 

He let out a breath. “He wasn’t very specific...also, Babs?”

 

Nightwing blushed, and turned around, whistling innocently.

 

Batman ignored this, and continued. “‘Still unknown where Killer Croc is, but have discovered who is behind this-’”

 

Before he could keep reading, the phone went dead and the room’s lights went dead. Emergency flood lights sprang to life, filling the room with a harsh, painful light. 

 

“Non-nuclear EMP! LexCorp tech- we’re found!”

 

They heard the sound of an explosion outside, and felt the vibrations as a massive object hit the ground and rolled. 

 

“The Batmobile.” Batman said, growling. 

 

“Sounds like it’s lost a wheel…” Nightwing added.

 

Batman ignored that, and turned to Cassandra. “You read the message- who is it!”

 

Before she could respond, a voice called out over a loudspeaker from outside. “Isn’t it obvious, Bats? It’s the last person you expected!”

 

He heard something get tossed down the steps, and, expecting a bomb, grabbed Catwoman and Dick and leapt to the back of the living room, behind one of the living room’s couches Cassandra following suit. To his surprise though, it wasn’t a bomb, but some kind of electronic device. 

 

He heard a distinctive hum, and they all gasped as a ghostly figure stepped through the door; though it was tinted faintly blue, the colours were recognizable. It was a man, tall and fit, dressed in a pure white suit. His face...his face was as chalky white as his suit, with bright red lips and green hair.

 

But it wasn’t the Joker- the red lips were smeared, like lipstick, the hair was brown at the roots, and the makeup on the face was smeared.

 

To his shock, the hologram looked right at him and laughed. “Oh I can see you Bats- and yeah, it’s not the Joker. That was kind of the fucking  _ point _ , genius!”

 

From out of nowhere, the figure pulled out a suitcase. Clearly, he was standing on some kind of projecting platform, and this hologram was mimicking his movements. But how was he seeing into the room? He placed the suitcase behind himself, as if to mask its contents from his audience.

 

“Fantastic tech, isn’t it? Good old Lionel sure knows how to make the best damned toys around!” 

 

The man in the white suit knelt down, and opened up his suitcase...and slid something black and metallic over his face. He then turned around...only to reveal the visage of a black skull, with two cold blue eyes staring right at Batman.

 

“I’ve got an offer for you, Batman,” Black Mask said, his tone cold as the night, “You give me that fat cat-” he said, pointing at Catwoman, “-or else I kill your family.”

 

Bruce’s stomach turned to ice. “What are you talking about?”

  
He laughed, and glared at Batman. “I’ve got that old man that was driving the little dyke this bitch hangs out with- either you give her to me, or the old man is going to  _ die _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yup- not Joker. This wasn't exactly inspired by Arkham Origins...but yeah I was dissapointed by that twist, and I kind of liked the idea of inverting it. More to the point though I'm generally sick of Joker being the main villain of Batman stories- for future stories (If I ever get to them!), Joker's only occasionally going to be an opponent. (To say noting of the other DC Characters I'm going to be bringing in...)
> 
> Please remember to comment if you Kudos- and ask any questions you might have.


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